Revolver
by Seriously Sam
Summary: While recovering in the hospital after a hunt gone wrong, a spirit latches onto John and slowly begins to kill him.
1. Windom

Title – Revolver

Summary – While recovering in the hospital after a hunt gone wrong, a spirit latches onto John and slowly begins to kill him.

_Part of __**"The Dark Horse"**__ series. Follows the events of __**"Albatross**__," but does not need to be read before this story. Everything that is needed to know is summarized within the story._

"_Now after all, don't it feel like nothing,_

_Like walking away, like a mouthful of rain._

_At twelve o'clock, a bell starts ringing,_

_A dog starts barking, and you're still missing."_

_- "Revolver" by Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan_

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter One: Windom"**

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

**January 25, 1990**

John Winchester sat in the spare bedroom of Jim Murphy's ranch house with a revolver clenched in his bandaged hand. A gun had never felt heavier in his entire life. The weight was nearly unbearable. With every beat that passed, his grip tightened around the metal. He could hear the blood pulsate in his ears. His heart pounded wildly against his chest cavity, threatening to burst right through the rib cage. Tears burned his eyes as his breath hitched in his throat. Licking his busted lip, John thought about just ending it all. It would be quick, painless. He could be with Mary once again.

Closing his eyes, he pictured Mary's smiling face. When she smiled, all of her pearly whites showed and the freckles scattered across her scrunched up nose. The sun radiated around her, her golden locks shimmering in the bright light. A pale hand reached out, almost as though it were pleading John to join her in the afterlife. He wanted that more than anything in the world at that moment. After everything that happened, surely it was the only way he could find peace with himself.

Laughter wafted in from the living room, which caused John to gaze towards the door to the bedroom. Six-year-old Sammy was squealing as his newly eleven-year-old brother laughed loudly with him. John blocked the voices out of his head. Closing his eyes again, he saw Mary's face beckoning him towards the light. Nothing had ever been the same without her. Honestly, John should be impressed at how long he lasted without her.

His heart clenched, felt as though a vice was tightening around it. His head was clouded with thoughts of despair and sought the comfort that death would surely bring. Slowly, his thump flicked off the safety. As though in slow motion, the revolver raised to his head. The muzzle grazed his temple. His hand shook violently. A strangled sob ripped at his throat.

The door to the bedroom opened with gusto. Through the tears clouding his vision, John noticed his eldest son standing in the doorway with wide eyes and mouth open. He liked the thought of Dean being the last thing he saw before dying. It was comforting. His finger twitched, resting against the metal trigger. It would all end, all the pain and sadness. A little round could erase all of that.

Suddenly, Dean was in front of him, his tiny hands gripped his wrist. He jerked his father's arm and the gun fired.

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

**Twenty-Four Days Earlier**

John stirred awake when the sun seeped through the curtains of the living room and danced across his face. A messy, brown head was lying on his lap. A tiny hand was gently grasping the fabric of his jeans. With one hand, he brushed the kid's hair off his forehead. Sammy was sleeping soundly, his mouth opened in a small O. Tucked away in his other side was his eldest son. Dean's face was buried into his side, a tiny arm laid across his chest.

The small family had been in Blue Earth for the holidays. His six-year-old son had been adamant that they stay up to watch Dick Clark host the ball dropping. His excitement had been overwhelming. John had fed him some sugar just to keep him awake long enough, except it was 11:30 when the kid started to crash. He had missed the ball drop by a mere eight minutes, but John stayed awake with Dean. Somewhere along talking and watching television, the older two Winchesters had fallen asleep on the couch as well.

John looked around the room. The pastor was nowhere to be found. He must have had enough sense to make it to bed before it got too late. John shifted slightly, his back was stiff and his arm buried underneath the lightest Winchester was painfully asleep. The movement stirred Dean awake who groaned and tried to bury himself deeper into his father's side.

"Dean, wake up," John said gently.

Motioning for his son to get off the couch, Dean stood up lazily with his fist rubbing against his eye. John eased off the couch and grabbed Sammy underneath his armpits to haul him up. It took everything he had in him to concentrate on not dropping the kid. His arm prickled so much that is was numb. Once the child was situated on his hip, he wrapped his free arm around Dean's shoulders and led them into the spare bedroom.

Immediately, Dean crawled under the covers and looked up at his father through half-lidded eyes. John laid his youngest onto the bed. Sammy immediately turned towards his big brother and snuggled into place. Leaning down, John kissed both of his sons' temples before exiting the room.

Settling into the kitchen, John made a pot of coffee and grabbed the paper from the front stoop. There was one article that caught his eye. In a town about an hour drive away, people were disappearing. They had disappeared for a day or two at a time. Then, they would come back as though never being gone. Except, their demeanor was different and family members claimed that something had changed them in their time away. Finally, they would disappear a second time and were never seen again. The bodies had never been found and it had happened five different times over the course of the last month.

Taking a sip of his coffee, John got out a map of Minnesota and a red sharpie. He drew a straight line across I-90 W then followed I-71 N until he landed on Windom, Minnesota. He could commute between the two towns, save on an apartment or motel. Plus, the boys could stay with Jim while he was away. That was always better than leaving them home alone.

"Morning, John."

He looked up to see the pastor standing in the doorway, a soft smile gracing his features. His gaze rested on the map and newspaper briefly before looking back at the younger man. He settled across from John and quickly read the newspaper article that was highlighted in yellow marks.

"Windom's about an hour and fifteen minutes away," explained John. "If you don't mind, I'd like to leave Dean and Sammy here and just commute to the hunt."

"The boys are always welcome in my home."

"I think I'll pack up my gear and head out today then."

Jim slid the paper back to John. Folding his hands onto the table, the older man peered at John. The last month had been a hard one for the Winchester family. In fact, John hadn't been hunting since the end of November. His last hunt had been in Pennsylvania. Some kind of creature had been viciously attacking hikers in a wooded area after the sun set. Dean had been bugging him for months to be let in on a hunt, so John allowed him to do some recon in the woods with him during the day. He thought it was safe, except they weren't alone in the woods. There was a pair of hunters who had been searching for the same creature. One of the hunters got trigger-happy and shot Dean.

John had basically abandoned the hunt. Instead, he spent his days in the hospital with Sammy while Dean went into three separate surgeries. They high-tailed out of Pennsylvania as soon as Dean was released and holed themselves up in Blue Earth while he recovered. A month without a hunt was getting John antsy. He would have hunted anything in that moment.

"Are you ready to go on a hunt again?" the pastor asked gently.

During the last hunt, John had developed an unhealthy obsession with finding the hunters who had shot Dean. When he found out their location, him and Caleb Lyons broke into the hunting cabin they were staying at. They found a match in shotgun shells. Before he could decide what to do with the information, the hunters arrived back at the cabin. John brawled with the one hunter who had more mass and weight on him. Caleb, who was only twenty-five at the time, made the ultimate mistake and shot the man. That meant that the other hunter had to die as well. John had taken the gun from Caleb and shot the other hunter at point blank range. John had never hightailed quicker out of a hunt before.

"I'm fine. I only killed that man to protect Caleb." He took a sip of his coffee. "What do you think Bobby would have done if he were there? He would have shot the fucker too. We protect our own, Jim."

"You killed an innocent man, John. You can't tell me that it's all right. Caleb is a wreck."

"That wasn't my first rodeo," he snapped. "Want to know how many innocent people I killed in 'Nam?"

"That was in the context of war!"

John let out a bitter chuckle as he gathered his papers and map together. Running a hand through his dark locks, he could no longer look at the pastor. Things were black and white to Jim Murphy. John understood that there was no black and white. Everything was a hazy shade of gray.

"The hunting gig is one big war, Jim," he commented before draining the dregs of his coffee. "We battle supernatural creatures instead of invading countries."

"I don't doubt it's a battle, but I would hardly constitute it as a war." The pastor sighed heavily. "You killed a man, John. That is all I am saying. I'm not debating whether you had to or not… I'm merely stating that there is spilled blood on your hands. It is okay to falter in your stride after something so horrific occurs."

John stood up, situating his things underneath his arm. He could remember the horrified look on Caleb's face after he pulled the trigger. The kid had been pale as a ghost and shaking so bad that he could barely stand. Caleb needed time to get over the events that had unraveled. John did not need that time. He dealt with the murder and wanted to move on.

"I get it. Trust me, I get that I took a life. The fact of the matter was, those two hunters jumped the gun on that hunt. They shot an innocent ten-year-old boy! I'll bet my life that it wasn't the first time. If they were still alive, it wouldn't have been the last. There's no room for reckless hunters."

"Caleb was a reckless hunter that night," Jim reasoned. "You going to shoot him too?"

"Dammit, Jim! Caleb's a rookie kid who didn't know how to react in a bad situation!"

"I cannot condone Caleb's actions that night, but I understand that fear drives us to make mistakes. Those hunters that you killed, what if they were just rookies? What if they were not inherently bad people like you deem them to be?"

"They weren't rookies. I did my research. I'd say they were players for at least the last decade."

It had been the first thing he had checked out honestly. The two had a wrap sheet as long as the Mississippi River. Most of the crap they were wanted for was stuff that could be consequences of hunting such as fraud and theft. Then, there was some downright suspicious stuff on their record that disturbed John more than he was willing to admit. Both of them had a history of assault and violence since they were just fifteen years old – long before the hunting inconsistencies appeared on their rap sheets. These two were messed up kids who got mixed into the hunting world. They were dangerous.

"Let me put Bobby on this case in Windom. I would like you to go to Nebraska and see Caleb."

"Caleb's fine," commented John even if he didn't fully believe it. "He just needs time to process everything that happened."

"You and Caleb are like brothers to each other. He views your sons as nephews. You're family to him, John. Right now, he needs you to act like his family. He cannot talk to Irene about this, and he hasn't been in contact with his father for years."

The floorboards creaked and the two hunters shut their mouths immediately. Soon enough, Dean appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. His blonde hair was tousled as a fist rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"Why are you two fighting?" asked Dean.

"We're not fighting, Dean," the pastor said gently with a warm smile.

"Is this about what happened in Pennsylvania?"

"What do you mean?" snapped John harsher than he intended to.

They had avoided telling Dean or Sammy about the events that unfolded in the cabin. The tale was too much for small children; however, it had not stopped Dean from questioning why they high-tailed so quickly out of the state. He knew something dreadful happened but did not press the matter.

"When we first got here, Irene was yelling at you and Caleb about how two hunters died. Then, Caleb just left and we haven't heard from him," reasoned Dean. "Is he going to go to jail?"

John swore under his breath. Dean had big ears and was constantly listening to the adult conversations that occurred. He wanted to be let in on the discussions, wanted to know what was going on. He felt entitled to the information, because he took care of Sammy. The kid already considered himself a hunter in training.

"No, Caleb's not going to jail," the pastor replied. "He just needed some time alone. Killing someone isn't an easy thing to do."

"Who did he kill?"

"Alright, that's enough," commented John. "I need to talk to you. I'm going on a hunt that's about an hour away from here. You and Sammy are going to stay with Pastor Jim. I'll try to be home every night, okay?"

Dean glanced up at his father, a frown etched into his forehead. Instead of arguing, he just nodded his head in the positive and said, "Yes, Sir." John ruffled his hair and smiled down at his eldest.

By the time his gear was packed, Sammy had wandered into the kitchen and was munching on Lucky Charms. John told his youngest to be good and to do everything that Pastor Jim asked of him. The kid wrapped his arms around his father's neck and gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before turning his attention back to his beloved cereal.

John clapped a hand onto Dean's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He told his eldest to be good and to watch out for his brother. The kid merely nodded and told his father to be careful.

The ride to Windom was a boring ride without his two boys chatting up a storm. They usually played car games, told stories, fought, asked their father a million questions. They were a source of entertainment that John had taken for granted during car rides.

Upon entering Windom, John pulled over when he found the nearest pay phone. Digging through his pockets, he popped in a few coins and punched in a familiar Nebraska area code. It rang for several seconds before a familiar voice answered on the other end.

"Hey, Caleb, it's John."

_"What do you need?"_

Clenching the phone in his hand, he leaned against the booth and closed his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that he might have been dead or seriously injured if Caleb hadn't stepped in when he did while they were in Pennsylvania. He owed him something.

"Nothin'. I'm just callin' to see if you're alright."

_"Why wouldn't I be?"_

"Jim seems to think you need to talk about what happened." John glanced around the area. "If you need help, don't be too prideful to ask for it. Are we clear, kid?"

_"I killed a man, Johnny. It's not just something you forget."_

"I know what it feels like."

_"Monsters, ghosts, anything supernatural… that's easy. It's barely a kill, man. I watched the life leave those guys eyes. I did that."_

"They weren't good people, Caleb. They were monsters in their own right." John glanced out of the phone booth and watched two small boys running hand-in-hand towards the park across the way. "I'm in Windom on a hunt. Why don't you get your ass out here and help me out so I can get home to Jim's at a decent hour to see my kids."

Caleb Lyons had three weaknesses: his niece and the two Winchester boys. He would go to the ends of the earth for them. The one thing he needed now more than ever was to be around people who cared for him and wanted to help him through his rough patch.

_"I'm fine, dude. I don't need a hunt or a babysitter. Look, I got to go. I'm doing some research for Bulldog."_

Bulldog was Caleb's affectionate name for Bobby Singer who had been his mentor when he entered the hunting world. He claimed that the older hunter not only looked like a bulldog but also had the same temperament of one. The nickname was not well received by the owner. In fact, it only took one moment of Sammy barking at Bobby to make the hunter smack Caleb across the back of the head. The name was never uttered in front of him again. Whenever Caleb, Dean, and Sam were at Bobby's house, they would whisper barks at one another. Sometimes, just sometimes, John felt like he had three sons and not two.

"I bet it's just busy work," commented John. "You need to get back in the saddle and go on a hunt. You're one of the few people I trust to go hunting with me, so you should take that as a compliment and get your sorry, scrawny ass out here."

_"As delicately as you put that, Johnny, I already told you I'm busy. You want to get me out of Bulldog's thigh-high shit work, then call him and bitch. Until then, I got ancient texts to go through and answer his pop quizzes."_

"You know very well that Bobby and I are like oil and vinegar. I'm not askin' him for shit if I can help it. Come out to Jim's when you're done. We're staying with him until at least Dean's birthday and then heading out. Dean's been dying to see you."

_"I'm sure he is. I'll bring him the best issues of my skins magazines for his big one-one."_

John snorted but didn't say anything about the skin magazines. Dean would get his hands on them one way or another. Caleb would make sure of that. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean was going to take after Caleb when he got older: a smartass, sex-crazed, cocky hunter. Although neither would ever admit it, Dean secretly idolized the hunter he viewed as a big brother.

Bidding his goodbye, John hung up the phone. Flipping through he phone book, he found the local police station and jotted down their address before heading back to the Impala.

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

Dean stood on the front porch with his arms propped on the railing outside of Pastor Jim's ranch house. Sammy was running around the front lawn jumping in the snow like a rabbit. Childish squeals escaped his lips as he hopped around. The kid could entertain himself easier than anyone Dean had ever met in his life.

"DEAN! Look how high I can go!"

He jumped as high as his little legs would let him. The snow crunched underneath his boots. Eventually, he pushed himself too hard and went tumbling into the snow face first. Dean let out a laugh and asked if his brother was okay.

The kid struggled into a sitting position, snow covering his messy curls. His hat had disappeared off his head. His cheeks were growing increasingly pink as snow tickled his eyelashes. Except, Dean was no looking at his brother anymore. He was watching as a black pickup truck pulled into the driveway.

The door opened to reveal two men in leather jackets and worn jeans. Straightening up, Dean knew immediately they were hunters. They had that weathered, worn look about them. Their eyes held knowledge of death and monsters. It was the same haunted look that his father possessed when he was on a job or talking of a job.

"Hey, kid, we're lookin' for a Jim Murphy," the one man announced as they made their way to the porch. "You his kid?"

"Who wants to know?" demanded Dean with narrowed eyes.

"Dean!" Sammy gasped out as he ran as fast as he could through the piles of snow to his big brother. "Dean, we're not 'posed to talk to strangers."

He scrambled up the stairs, squeezing past the two men. His mittens wrapped around his big brother's arm. Sammy tugged on his arm a few times, his eyes desperate for him not to say anything else. Anyone who knew Dean, Sam included, understood that he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

"Is this Murphy's house, kid?" the other man snapped.

"Are you deaf? I asked who wants to know," challenged Dean.

Before another word could be spoken, the front door opened to reveal the pastor. Immediately, Sammy made a beeline for Jim. Dean stood his ground, not moving an inch from his original spot. He wanted nothing more than to seek comfort in the pastor, relieved that he appeared when he did. Except, he knew not to show any weakness in front of hunters. That was the first thing Caleb taught him.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Jim inquired in a cheery tone as a hand rested on Sammy's shoulder.

"Yeah, you see we're friends with Jacob Everett and Kevin Rhodes – or should I say we _were_?"

Dean glanced behind him, eyes staring intently on the pastor as though waiting for him to confirm the suspicions that he had for the past month: Pennsylvania had become deadly and that's why they hightailed out of there so quickly. Except, if the pastor knew anything, he didn't let it show on his face. This only made Dean narrow his eyes, concentrating on the lines of his face. Pastor Jim had the worst poker face.

"I've heard of them," the older hunted admitted. "Although, I fear under the most dire circumstances. Dean, Sam, why don't you boys go instead for a bit?"

Sammy reached out his hand towards his big brother, his eyes wide as they darted from the strangers to Dean. The older boy held his ground for a few seconds, sizing up the hunters that had arrived. Slowly, he backed up and gripped his brother's hand into his own. They disappeared into the ranch house.

Immediately, Dean inched towards the front window and carefully slid it upward so that it was open just a sliver. Sammy tugged his brother's arm, his lips twisted in a frown.

"_Dean_," he whispered loudly, "we're not 'posed to eardrop!"

"Shh," was his only reply.

Sammy began to protest again when Dean grabbed the boy by the waist with one hand and the other closed over his mouth. He held his baby brother close to his chest and they crouched down in front of the window.

"Now, I find it interesting that you got a boy named Dean here. 'Cause, we did our research into our friends' deaths. Apparently, the woods where they were hunting, a kid named Dean Winchester got shot. Also heard his daddy is a player."

"The Winchesters are good friends of mine. It is true that Dean was shot in those woods. That's why I contacted Irene Lyons. I wanted to see if there was anyone in the area who could take over the hunt," Pastor Jim replied in an even tone.

Dean narrowed his eyes, wishing more than anything he could ask questions about what had been going on since he got shot. His dad and the pastor talked in hushed tones late at night discussing how to deal with the situation at hand. More than once, he slipped out of the spare bedroom and listened to the conversations about how he had been shot by a reckless hunter and somehow his dad and Caleb found out where they were staying. In the end, the two other hunters had died by their hands.

From what he gathered, Caleb's sister-in-law Irene had discovered their whereabouts. She had not emerged into the hunting world when her husband was killed like Caleb had. She took a more subtle approach and operated much like Pastor Jim did. They researched and helped hunters but rarely hunted themselves.

Dean couldn't help but worry about what had happened in Pennsylvania since a month later the topic was still being discussed and scrutinized. Now, two strange hunters found out where they were staying and asking questions.

"We did our research on John Winchester. A lot of people say he's hard to work with, hard to get along with. They say he's as stubborn as a mule and is Satan in a Sunday hat," the hunter continued. "Wanna hear my theory?"

"I have a feeling you'll tell me even if I politely decline," the pastor replied coolly.

"I think Winchester killed our friends, because he thinks they shot his son."

Underneath his grasp, Dean felt his kid brother start to shake at the words. Several seconds later, fresh tears connected with the hand that was rested against Sammy's mouth. Tightening his grip around the kid's midsection, he planted a reassuring kiss on his messy head of curls. Except, Sammy didn't stop shaking in his grasp.

"I cannot argue with you that John is a hard hunter to work with. I believe that is because he lacks trust in people. I can assure you, however, that John was beside himself with worry. He was at the hospital twenty-four sev-"

"Our friends were murdered the night that kid got released," the other hunter snapped. "What's your new excuse for him?"

"I can understand your suspicions, Mister…"

"Mister None-of-Your-Damn-Business! You tell Winchester that I want to talk to him! Tell him he should probably thank you for covering his dead ass!"

It sounded as though the hunters descended down the porch steps. Standing up, dragging Sammy with him, Dean peered out of the window to see his suspicions were correct. He let his kid brother slip from his grasp and quickly closed the window shut tight. Then, he grabbed his brother's hand and led him into the bedroom. The last thing he needed was for Pastor Jim to see Sammy crying and know they had been listening to the conversation.

Author's Notes – I hope that you enjoyed the first chapter Please, leave a review and let me know how you liked the first chapter! :) Since you're all going to review, I am going to give you a fun story fact. If this was filmed for television, "Revolver" by Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan would totally be played in the background during the flash forward part of the story.


	2. Sisyphus

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Two: Sisyphus"**

Cutting the engine to the Impala, John tugged the key out of the ignition and looked up at the ranch house before him. The living room light was one and curtains drawn. Hauling his frame out of the car, he fumbled in the dark for his key to the front door. He had a key to the house since about a year previous when he needed a place to stay while Jim was going out of town to help a new apprentice in the hunting world.

Upon opening the door, the last thing he expected to see was Sammy curled up in the armchair looking miserable and Dean ignoring his entrance. Jim sat next to his eldest and seemed to be daydreaming. John snapped the door shut quietly behind him and entered into the living room.

Sammy looked up at him and immediately the kid jumped off the chair. He ran towards his father, his arms outstretched. Bending down, John caught the kid in his arms and hoisted his feet from the ground. Sammy's arms wrapped tightly around his neck and he buried his face into his father's neck. Instantly, John knew something was dreadfully wrong. He caught Jim's eye and understood: it was about what happened in Pennsylvania.

An hour later, after putting Sam and Dean to bed, John sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Burying his face into his hands, he braced himself for the new developments. Maybe he was just naïve to believe that silence for the past month meant that the whole ordeal was over with. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was over with so he could move on. Whatever the motive had been, it had all been an illusion.

Jim recounted the events of the afternoon – how these two hunters had shown up claiming that they suspected that John was the murderer of their friends and how they met his children. Leaning back in the chair, balancing it on the back two legs, John couldn't help but be relieved that at least Caleb was in the clear. His name had not been mentioned. They thought he acted alone.

"Why do they think you're involved?"

"Irene called me in a panic and told me she didn't know what to tell these hunters calling her. I merely told her to point them in my direction and had her claim she didn't know anything about what happened," the pastor replied.

A sigh worked its way up into his throat and choked him. Part of John wished they had just left the whole thing alone, that he had never asked Irene to find him a list of hunters in the area around the time of the shooting. That way, none of these problems would have occurred. Nobody would be walking on eggshells wondering what these buddies of the dead hunters would do to them when they figured out their involvement.

The other part of John was satisfied. Ever since Mary had died, he lived and breathed revenge. He thought about it constantly, seeking revenge for what killed his wife. That revenge never came. When Dean was shot, John vowed for some retribution for him. When those hunters died, he knew that although he let down Mary by not finding her killer, he had not let down son because he found the shooter.

"You shouldn't be involved in any of this," reasoned John. "This is my mistake. I'll take care of the hunters."

"No, you have two boys to think about. What would they do if these hunters killed you? Dean wouldn't be able to survive without you. He counts on you, John."

If Jim was going for the tugging on heartstrings effect, then he succeeded. After Mary's death, Dean became a shell of the boy he used to be. His innocence burned away in the fire that night. For months, he never said a word. He walked around with dead-looking eyes and a constant frown. He developed an unhealthy habit of panic attacks whenever his baby brother was not with him. Over the years, he slowly started to become the boy he once was. He regained his humor and smiles. His panic attacks lessened and his eyes brightened. The one thing that never came back, however, was his innocence. At the raw age of four, Dean Winchester had become hardened.

John knew if him or Sammy were to perish, Dean would never be able to recover. Miracles don't happen twice in one lifetime. When it came to dead hunting buddies, hunters sought revenge as though it were a lifeline. There might as well be a giant X over John's head because he _did_ pull the trigger.

"What then? They're already convinced I pulled the fuckin' trigger, and, Jim, let's be honest, I did. If they want to believe that I pulled it twice, then I'm more than happy to accept that weight if it protects Caleb."

"What about Dean and Sammy?"

"Listen, I'm not planning on meeting with them and telling them that I'm their guy. At the same time, I have to at least meet with them and try to convince them I had nothing to do with it. If I don't, it just makes me look guilty. I won't have you or anyone else taking the fall for this."

"What did you find in Windom?"

Grateful of the topic change, John told him that he had little information to go on. The cops were baffled and family members were distraught. None of it made sense. At first, John thought perhaps it was multiple demonic possessions. The personality changes would make sense. Except, there was no indication of any sulfur at any of the scenes.

"I would have thought possession," Jim agreed. "The lack of sulfur is a disturbing detail though."

"What other creature can possess a person?"

"I don't know of any."

John nodded, easing the chair back on all four legs. He'd kill for a drink at the moment, but the only alcohol that Jim had in stock was red wine. He was more of a whiskey drinker. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was too late to go out to a bar. Last call would be in about a half hour.

"What if it's like a shifter?" questioned John as he squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"It could be a shape shifter or a ghoul… something that takes the form of another. It would explain why the person looked like themselves but failed to act accordingly."

"A ghoul? I've never hunted a ghoul before."

"They're spirits that eat human flesh and then can, in turn, take the form of the last person they ate," explained Jim.

"That's cheery. How do you kill one?"

"Decapitation."

"I love a hunt where decapitation is the answer," John replied sarcastically. "With that lovely image, I'll see ya in the morning."

Fatigue overtook him, so he stood up from his spot at the table. The joints in his body cracked loudly. Upon exiting the kitchen, he saw a shadow move down the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Making his way down the hallway, he looked inside the bathroom to see Dean standing with his back against the wall.

"What are you doing up?" John asked as he flipped on the light.

"I was going to go to the bathroom. Forgot to brush my teeth."

"In the dark?"

"Guess I was so tired that I forgot to turn it on."

A shit-eating grin worked its way onto boy's lips. He went to the sink and picked up his toothbrush as though to make a point.

"Let me guess, you were eavesdropping?" questioned John as he propped his side against the doorframe.

"As Sammy _always_ says, 'We're not 'posed to eardrop.'"

"You should listen to your kid brother more often."

"Should I really? The kid who says eardrop instead of eavesdrop? The kid who barks at Bobby? The kid who doesn't even know how to whisper correctly?"

A chuckle escaped John's lips. Sammy was a constant source of entertainment for the tiny family.

"Go to bed, Dean."

He turned to exit the bathroom when his eldest called him back. Looking back at his son, he saw the change in expression as clear as day on his face. Bone-deep worry wrinkled across his forehead as his grip tightened around the toothbrush.

"I know what happened in Pennsylvania," he said in a tone that sounded wise beyond ten years old. "I know those hunters came here today, because they know you and Caleb killed their buddies."

John just stood in the doorway to the bathroom not knowing how to respond. Dean and his eavesdropping was nothing new. The kid had been listening in on hunting conversations for years, yearning for the day he'd sit at the big kid's table and be able to discuss hunting as well. Mostly, John turned a blind eye to the act and pretended like Dean never heard the exchanges to begin with. Nothing damaging was ever said until the past month.

"I might be hunting a ghoul," he decided in saying.

"A ghoul?"

"Yeah, maybe. Jim seems to think it's a viable option."

"It's something new."

"Yeah," John replied with a soft smile gracing his features. "If it is a ghoul, I get to do some decapitating."

A wide smile spread across Dean's lips as he popped the toothbrush back into its holder.

"That's really cool, Dad. When can I decapitate something?"

"Not until you're forty."

"Caleb's only twenty-five and can decapitate things."

"We'll discuss it when you're twenty-five then. Go to bed."

As John walked to his bedroom, he couldn't help but wish that he could shield Dean from the harsh realities of life. The ten year old was often on the front lines of the battles the small family faced. He was the fiercest protector of his dad and kid brother. He took care of them when they couldn't care for themselves. He put his family first and foremost above all else – especially himself.

Sammy, however, was naïve in nature and oblivious to his surroundings. All he ever knew was their semi-happy, nomadic lifestyle. He had never experienced the gut-wrenching loss of a mother or knew what burning hot ash against his skin felt like. Sammy did know what it was like to have an overprotective big brother and a drawn, depressed father.

John knew he wasn't the perfect father. His mistakes could fill a book. Except, there was no denying that his boys kept him whole, kept him sane. They were his whole life and his lifeline. In Dean's eyes, John could do no wrong. They had bonded over the loss of the matriarch of their family. This enabled them to understand each other more than anyone else possibly could. Sammy was a different story. He loved his father more than he could say, but his unwavering trust was placed in his brother's hands. More than anything, John wanted to be the rock in Sammy's life. He often felt guilty that Dean had taken on that responsibility so willingly. He just wished that Dean could have been a kid a little while longer.

The next morning, John was up bright and early. He sat in the kitchen going over his plans for the hunt while sipping on a cup of caffeine. Sammy got up not long after him, bounding into the kitchen as though all of his worries had seeped from his bones during his slumber. He sat next to his father, Lucky Charms situated in front of him. He shoveled piles of the cereal in his mouth as he talked a mile a minute about a Thundercats dream he had.

Dean slept in that morning. In fact, John didn't even get a chance to say goodbye for the day. He was out the door and in the Impala with only Sammy's sloppy kiss lingering on his cheek.

John was driving towards the highway when he noticed a large, black truck riding his ass. He slowed down purposefully, edging the guy to just pass him and get off his ass. The truck behind him swerved into the other lane and passed him quickly. Under his breath, he muttered a fowl name. Suddenly, the truck veered to the right. The truck and the Impala were perpendicular to one another. Slamming on the break, John jerked the steering wheel to the left.

The putrid smell of burning rubber filled the air as squeaks sounded out in the early morning sun. When the Impala finally came to a halt, the two cars were parallel to one another. Cutting the engine, John flung the driver's side door open and marched towards the truck. Two guys exited and met him in-between the cars.

"Where the hell did you learn to drive, you fucking jackass?" hollered John.

"You see how easy that was?" the driver replied with a smirk.

John narrowed his eyes, suddenly wishing he had a gun on him. There was something about the little display that didn't sit right with him. Suddenly his conversation with Jim the previous night sprung to mind. These were the hunters who visited the ranch yesterday.

"Stay the hell away from my kids," John snapped.

"Be a shame if one went missing, wouldn't it?" the driver added.

"You touch one hair on my kids' heads, I will strangle you with my bare hands!"

"You're not gonna shoot us?" the other guy spoke up. "I hear you're a good shot."

Backing up slowly towards the Impala, John took a few deep breaths. It was neither the time nor the place to do anything drastic even though the two hunters were obviously looking for a fight. John could understand their position. If some hunter killed Caleb or Jim, he would be out for blood. All signs pointed to John as the culprit. It didn't help matters that he was guilty.

Hauling his frame into the Impala, he turned over the engine. Swiftly, he swerved around the truck and continued towards the highway. As soon as he entered Windom, he would be calling Jim to make sure he didn't let Dean and Sammy out of his sight. They'd be safe inside during the day. If those hunters were going to try anything, they would do it when the boys were vulnerable and alone. They knew what John was capable of. They wouldn't dare fuck with him.

Once in Windom, John got his hands on some security footage of one of the victims. He had been caught on camera in a grocery store. He wandered around with a cart and ended up not buying anything. It was almost as though the creature was picking out his next victim. When his eye caught the camera, there was no eye flare. He knew immediately he could rule out shape shifter.

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Caleb Lyons leaned back in the kitchen chair, balancing it on the back two legs. In front of him was a mountain of books and papers. Closing his eyes, he willed the eyestrain headache to go away. Nothing was more grueling than being stuck on research duty with Bulldog. Except, the fact of the matter was, Lincoln was too lonely and hunting did not have any appeal at the moment. Being in Blue Earth around Johnny would only remind him of the unspeakable act he had committed. Therefore, he chose to stay with Bulldog a few days. It had been a mistake he was not willing to admit to as of yet.

"You find too many big words, you idjit?"

Opening his eyes, Caleb looked at the older hunter across the table. A frown was etched into his features as a bottle of beer dangled from his fingertips. In front of him was the biggest book he had ever seen in his life.

"I think I know why I was the first and last apprentice that Pastor Jim ever assigned to you," Caleb said dryly.

"You should consider yourself lucky that you got to train under me," the hunter snapped with a smirk.

"I count my lucky stars daily, Bobby."

There was only one reason that Pastor Jim had assigned Bobby as Caleb's hunting mentor. When his brother was possessed by a demon and attacking his whole family, Bobby Singer had been the one tracking the demon. He busted through the front door with holy water and gruff Latin. He had saved Caleb's life, saved his sister-in-law, his niece, and his parents. The only person that Bobby could not save was his possessed big brother. The demon had ridden him so hard that Dominic was dead before saving him was even an option.

Caleb's dad got big into hunting and shipped his surviving sixteen-year-old son off to military school. A few years later, he dropped out and immediately went to his sister-in-law, Irene, who had emerged into the hunting world herself. She was the one to introduce him to Jim Murphy. Immediately, through Irene no doubt, knew that Bobby was the one to save the Lyons clan. That was the only reason that Bobby was ever trusted to become his mentor.

"You going to tell me why you came here to do the research for? Hell, why are you even doing research in the first place?"

Caleb fell silent. After John called him yesterday asking him to hunt with him, he immediately packed a bag and went to Bobby's. He couldn't talk to Johnny and listen to him say that the right thing had been done.

"Can't I spend some time with my favorite hunter?"

"I know you think I'm stupid as a goat, but I think I know what all of this is about."

The only person that would have told Bobby anything about what happened would be Jim Murphy. The pastor prided himself in his connections. He always had an associate for everything. No doubt, he called Bobby Singer for information on the hunters who had been murdered. Bobby knew nearly everyone in the hunting realm. He often visited places like the Roadhouse and made acquaintances with everyone just in case he ever needed something. Jim called it resourceful. John called it shady. Caleb just tried to stay out of the middle.

"You going to tell me that I did the right thing?"

"I think that the right thing to do was to protect your partner," replied Bobby.

"I didn't have to shoot the guy," reasoned Caleb. "I just…"

The front legs of the chair slammed into the tiled floor. Standing up quickly, Caleb made his way to the counter where the scotch was out. Pouring himself a glass, he took a swing. He kept his back to Bobby. Talking about feelings wasn't really his forte. He didn't know how to explain his thought process to anyone.

When his big brother had died, a part of Caleb had died as well. There was an empty, gaping hole that ate away at him every single day of his life. His big brother was his best friend, his protector, his everything. Dean and Sammy's relationship often painfully reminded him of the relationship he lost.

There was one person who often filled the empty void in his heart through bickering and hunting. That individual was John Winchester. He embodied so many of Dominic's personality traits and their relationship was akin to that of brothers. John was his best friend, his protector, the guy who gave him a family when he only pushed his away. When he saw the living shit getting beat out of his exhausted friend, he panicked. He didn't think about jumping him from behind or knocking him out. The only thing he could think of was that he couldn't lose John like he lost Dom. Therefore, he pulled the trigger without even blinking an eye.

"We all make mistakes," Bobby broke his train of thought. "Hell, look at John. He's made more than anyone I know."

"You weren't there, Bobby. You didn't see Dean in the hospital looking like the reaper was going to come any minute and sweep him up. I just lost my head," he decided to say because the image of Dean in the hospital looking eggshell white and scared messed with everybody's head that week.

"I could imagine" he replied as he stood up and tossed the empty beer bottle into the trash. "That kid has an effect on everyone. Seeing him so beat up would cause anyone to make a mistake."

"Did you know the hunters?"

Bobby grabbed the scotch and poured himself a glass. Downing half of it in one gulp, he smacked his lips and nodded in the positive.

"Met them once at the Roadhouse. Heard more about them than I cared to. The one… Rhodes, I think, was a real loose canon. Bill used to watch him like a hawk when he was at the Roadhouse, didn't trust him as far as he could throw him."

"Pastor Jim seemed to think their buddies will be looking for Johnny and me."

"They had fringe hunting friends. Wouldn't be surprised if they did some digging into what happened."

"Bobby…" Caleb paused, too scared to ask what hunters might do to the people who killed their friends. Part of him, already knew the answer to that question. What scared him most, however, was what these hunters might do to Dean, Sammy, and Kenley.

"Did you know that I speak Japanese?" Bobby changed the subject. "I'll have to teach you some time so you can go through these ancient texts with me. I shouldn't have to do all the damn work myself."

Caleb held his breath, feeling like Sisyphus rolling the damn stone up the hill. Downing the rest of his scotch, he sat back down at the table and continued the research. There was nothing he could do now but wait to see what would happen.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed chapter two! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and added this story onto their alert/favorite list already! Don't forget to leave a review. :)


	3. Ghouls

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Three: Ghouls "**

**Windom, Minnesota**

**January 6**

John sat in the Impala, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. The last thing he wanted to do was have an ultra bright flashlight revealing his location to what he suspected were ghouls. While waiting for this to happen, he thought back to the past few days. The hunters that tried to wreck his car had been oddly absent. In fact, Jim started calling it the calm before the storm, which unnerved him more than he was willing to admit. These hunters had made a direct threat against Dean and Sammy. If anything would happen to them… John couldn't even comprehend what the days following would be like.

When Mary died, the days that followed were a blur. He drank himself into a bottomless black hole. The only thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital after having his stomach pumped with Dean in the chair beside him holding his baby brother. The look on the toddler's face, which was filled with pain and grief, was enough to jolt John out of his selfish behaviors. He threw out all the whiskey he bought, went to a psychic to try to make sense of the insensible, and vowed that he would always put his boys first. That mantra was what enabled him to survive all these years without Mary. They gave him a purpose. They were the light at the end of the monster-filled tunnel. Without them, John didn't know if he would have the will to live.

To make matters worse, he had Caleb's and Dean's problems to attend to. The younger hunter locked himself away in Sioux Falls and doomed himself to an endless mountain of research with Bobby. He refused to go hunting, refused to see the Winchesters, refused to come to the ranch until it was Dean's birthday. John understood the kid needed time to process the fact that he murdered someone in cold blood but just wished the process was in Minnesota. Dean, well, he was being Dean. His eldest son worried about everything, constantly on guard, consistently trying to protect his kid brother. The hunters visiting the ranch only caused him to worry about what was going to go down. He always saw the worst possible outcome for the situations around him. His mind reeled with worst-case scenarios as he put on his trademarked fake smirk and soldiered on.

Twenty minutes later, John exited the car with only a faint beam of light that only allowed him to see a few inches in front of him. He traveled down the path to the large mausoleum. With a crowbar, he pried upon the tomb as swiftly as he could manage.

Once inside, he brightened the flashlight slightly and glanced around the in the nooks and crannies. There was an odd smell the loomed in the air around him. He couldn't for the life of him place the odor. Ignoring the smell, he glanced around the dank crypt in hopes for a clue. That's when he noticed it. One of the stone caskets didn't seem right. The lid on top was slightly askew. Stepping closer, John hauled the lid off.

The stench overwhelmed his senses immediately. Lying in the casket was a slowly decomposing body of one of the victims – or what he assumed was one of the victims. With the decomposition and the large bits of flesh missing, it was hard to tell. Covering his mouth and nose with his leather jacket sleeve, he stepped away from the decaying body. There was not an ounce of doubt in his mind – he was dealing with a ghoul.

Stepping deeper into the tomb, looking for the ghoul in question, he came across an even more foul smell. Tucked away in the very back corner was a pile of snapped bones, blood, and entrails. It took everything he had in him not to vomit on the spot.

Seeing enough evidence, John exited the mausoleum and made his way back to the Impala. He knew exactly what his next move would be – he needed to pay the latest victim who had disappeared and was now back acting differently a visit the next day. No doubt, the ghoul was using that body while looking for its new meal.

Making his way back to the Impala, he glanced down the road to see an outline of a truck in the distance. He squinted his eyes, his heart catching in his throat. Hauling his frame behind the wheel, he held his breath to see who would make the first move. After several moments, John was the first to cave and pulled out. On the drive back to Blue Earth, he saw the faint outline of a truck with its headlights off following him.

* * *

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

Dean sat at the kitchen table, an uneaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of him. Sammy was sitting next to him, fingers sticky and mouth covered in the contents of the sandwich that he had not hesitated to devour. Leaning back in the chair until it was balancing on the hind two legs, Dean contemplated how he was going stir crazy. Ever since the two hunters had arrived at the house, Pastor Jim and their father had been adamant that they stay indoors. Sam was fine with that. He was constantly watching television, reading shakily to his big brother, asking fifty million questions, and running around the house pretending he was a Thundercat. Never in his life had he wanted to wrestle his brother to the ground and tell him to shut the hell up for five minutes. So far, he refrained from doing that.

"Are you gonna eat your sam'wich?" a tiny voice piped up.

Glancing to his right, Sammy looked up at him with greedy eyes. There was something about peanut butter that drove the kid crazy. He loved it almost as much as he loved Lucky Charms – which was a marvel of and in itself.

"Nah, I'm not hungry."

The six year old nearly jumped on the table, grabbing the sandwich and stuffing as much of it as he could into his mouth. He munched loudly, smacking his lips in a pleased manner. Scrunching up his face, Dean thought about how Sammy lacked manners. Suddenly, a pang of despair filled his heart. His mother was always the one to tell Dean how to eat, how to treat people, how to be courteous. Sam never had someone tell him the proper way to act because their dad lacked proper etiquette. Their mom had _always_ said so.

The phone rang, dragging Dean's gaze off his kid brother. Pastor Jim left his spot at the sink and grabbed the receiver off the wall. He could tell immediately it was Caleb on the other end because the pastor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Straightening up ever so slightly, Dean tried to wait patiently for the phone. He knew Caleb would ask to speak with him. He _always_ did.

"No, I don't know how to speak Japanese," the pastor said in an overly tolerant voice. "Bobby obviously wants you to learn if he's insisting you transcribe the text."

A grin appeared on Dean's features. He could picture Caleb with a beer in hand while trying to find the easy way out of research. The hunter liked a more hands on role and hated the behind the scenes crap. He was just like John in that respect. Hell, when Dean became a hunter, he wanted to be the hands on kind. He didn't know how Pastor Jim and Irene only researched or how Bobby researched half the time and hunted the other half. He wanted to be on the battles' front lines. He wanted to feel the weight of the gun against the small of his back, the bullets in his pocket, and watch the monsters fall to his feet.

There was a knock at the front door, which froze Dean in his spot. Images of the hunters flooded his mind. He knew that's exactly what Pastor Jim suspected to, because he beckoned Dean over to the phone and told him to stay in the kitchen with Sammy. Standing up, his kid brother followed suit and ran towards the phone. Dean tried to give his best stern John Winchester stare to get the kid to calm down. Sam only laughed in response.

"Where are you?" demanded Dean.

_"Whoa, when did you become on mother?"_ the older hunter questioned. _"I'm with Bulldog. He has me on research duty."_

"Research duty is stupid. Come to Minnesota. You can go with Dad during the day and then spend the nights with us."

_"I'm thinking of driving over there on the 20__th__ and staying through the 25__th__," _commented Caleb.

"That's it?"

_"Dude, I'm spending five days with you for your birthday. Be happy, Donald Downer."_

Sammy was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his hand outstretched for the phone. Dean suppressed a groan at his little brother's antics. Reluctantly, he told Caleb that Sam was bitching to talk to him and handed the phone over. The child scowled briefly before bringing the phone to his ear.

"You're not 'posed to swear," Sammy snapped. "Caleb, guess what I learned."

Dean rolled his eyes. Earlier that afternoon, Pastor Jim had made them sit through his version of Sunday school, which seemed to be all about angels and demons. Sam, of course, thought the stories were just that. Dean, however, knew the importance of the information that was being relied to them. Well, Dean suspected that demons existed but tuned out the information on angels. They didn't exist. End of story.

"Pastor Jim was tellin' us all 'bout heaven and hell," Sam continued in a breathless tone. "I don't wanna go to hell, so I'm gonna be real good from now on. I promised Pastor Jim I wouldn't fight with Daddy anymore."

Dean reached for the phone but his little brother stepped back with a scowl on his features. Sammy was a sweet, cute kid. He could make you laugh and smile with his boundless energy on the worst of the worst days. Except, when the kid got upset, he could be vicious. At that moment, Sam had on his pissy face, which could cause him to lash out.

"Who are you talking to?"

Dean and Sammy both turned around to see their father standing in the doorway of the kitchen. A frown was etched on his face as he reached for the phone with one stern look. The smallest Winchester immediately gave the phone over with a deep scowl etched across his childish features. John glanced at his eldest as though to ask what was wrong with the littlest Winchester. Dean only shrugged.

"Hello?" John asked as he brushed back a few stray locks of Dean's hair off his forehead and waited for a response. "You still with Bobby?"

Dean craned his neck around his father's body, straining his ears for any voices coming from the living room. Perhaps, their father had lost their key and he was the one to knock on the door. He relaxed slightly at the idea that it was just their dad at the door and not those hunters again.

"I'm gonna finish my hunt tomorrow. Why don't you come up? We can bond over a nice digging ceremony and then you can see the boys?"

Sammy sulked away from the phone, realizing that his conversation with Caleb was long over. Collapsing onto the chair at the kitchen table with a slight pout, he shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Dean grimaced as the peanut butter and jelly smeared all over his face and fingers. His kid brother was, without a doubt, the messiest person he had ever encountered.

"Whatever, Caleb. Let me know when you're ready." John hung on the phone more forcefully than he intended.

"Were you the one at the door?" questioned Dean.

"What? No, some little old lady from Jim's congregation is here asking about the winter clothing drive at the church." John narrowed his eyes at his eldest. "Why?"

"No reason."

John licked his lips and Dean immediately knew his father understood the undertone of his question. His dad knew him better than anyone in the world.

"Dean, they're just people."

Swallowing hard, Dean nodded his head because he didn't know what else to do. His father's words had an entirely different meaning in tone than in actual context. Dean knew that the most dangerous creature in the world was another human being. Putting on a fake smile, he beckoned Sammy to follow him so they could get ready for bed. Sammy dragged his feet, a huff escaping his lips. Wrapping an arm around his kid brother, he looked up at his father. A frown was etched onto his features, but he didn't say anything more. For that, Dean was grateful.

* * *

**January 7**

**Windom, Minnesota**

Cutting the engine, John surveyed the house in front of him. There were no neighbors in eyeshot and surely out of earshot. This would make things easier. Reaching behind him, he grasped the axe that was lying idly on the backseat. Hauling his frame out of the car, he walked towards the house with a gun resting against the small of his back and axe hanging to his side.

Upon reaching the front door, he reached out and grabbed the knob. Slowly, he turned it to find it unlocked. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he quietly pushed the door open. The room was poorly lit as he stepped inside. Turning right, he entered the living room to see the ghoul sitting on the couch. A smirk was dancing on its lips. John couldn't help but think that it knew he was coming.

"You're the second hunter to darken my door in this dismal town."

His grip on the axe tightened as he stood his ground. It would be a fight for sure, but John was prepared. It may have been his first time killing a ghoul, but he fought vampires with more fight in them than the sack in front of him. He knew how to wield an axe.

"I don't think I have to tell you how that turned out for him," the ghoul continued.

"What? You offering me a white flag?" John asked with a smirk. "Leave now and I get to live?"

"Everyone has a right to eat."

"You murder people!"

A chuckled escaped his lips. Never in his years of hunting had he ever had a creature talk to him, rationalize with him. For the first time ever, he wished he had back up. Jim didn't prepare him for this.

"You murder people as well. Murdering others in pointless wars, for sex, for money, for just sheer pleasure. Then, you let the carcasses go to waste. At least, I eat what I murder."

"I'm not going to allow you to murder anyone else."

"How noble of you."

The ghoul stood up. John took a step backwards and got ready to strike. He'd let the monster come to him. When he was close enough, he would swing and chop its head off. Hopefully, he wouldn't miss. If he did, he was fucked.

The ghoul inched closer. John heaved the axe up and swung with all his might. The ghoul grabbed the axe just below the blade and ripped it out of his grasp. He flung it across the room and continued to advance. John swore as he backed up towards the wall.

"I'll take the peace offering now," John said with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

The ghoul sneered and continued to advance in a slow, menacing pace. John fled towards the front door. He could get in his car and get another axe to finish the bastard off with. Except, the ghoul was faster and grabbed him by the back of the jacket. He was yanked backwards and flown across the room. His body collided with a wall and he heard an awful crack.

His eyes darted to the axe and, without a moment's thought, scrambled to grab it before the ghoul could make it across the room. The ghoul, once again, was faster. A boot slammed down on his outstretched hand. A cry escaped John's throat as he was grabbed by the front of his shirt. A fist slammed into his jaw once, twice, and then a third time. Reaching out, he grasped for the ghoul's shirt to brace himself. Once he did, he slammed his head forward and butted heads with the ghoul. The creature fell back slightly, the boot releasing his hand and grasp slipping from the shirt.

In that split second, he reached for the axe once more. Once his fingers laced around the wood, a boot collided with his chest. He was knocked backwards, the axe falling to the ground for a second time. Hands gripped his shirt again and pulled him upwards.

John clawed at the ghoul's hands, as a dull pain started to cloud his head. Then, he was pushed into the china cabinet. The glass shattered around him, tiny shards piercing his neck and back. The hands let go and John crumbled to the ground in the puddle of glass. A horrific pain filled his side as he skewered his eyes shut.

"You know, I'm so sick of hunters," the ghoul said as he walked away from John. "You slaughter cows, pigs, chickens for food. Why can't we slaughter you for food? It's very hypocritical."

John used all the strength he had in his arms to forced himself into a sitting position. His back rested uncomfortably against the china cabinet. The ghoul was reaching for blanket resting on the back of a chair. While it wiped its hands clean, John's eyes darted around to locate his axe.

"You were the ones who invited slaughterhouses. Box your animals up in ghastly conditions until they're plump enough to be hauled up by hooks and their throats slashed. I would kill to have such a system for my kind. I'm so sick of playing these little games and hiding from the likes of you people."

Crawling on all fours, he reached his axe with blood running into his eyes and blocking his vision. Standing up on shaky legs, he braced himself. He hauled the axe upward. Suddenly, the ghoul was darting at him with hunger shining in its eyes. John knew he would only have one more shot at this. So, he swung.

John breathed heavily, the axe slipping from his fingertips. At his feet was the dead body of the ghoul with its head a few feet away. There was blood everywhere. He didn't know where his blood ended and where the creature's blood began. The only thing he could think of was that he was grateful he left his leather jacket in the car.

Shaking his head to snap himself out of his stupor, he looked down at his left side. A shard of glass was pinching into his skin. Staggering over to the couch, he grabbed a throw from the cushion. Biting his lip, he braced himself. Ripping the shard from his side, he let out a grunt before applying pressure to the wound. He knew he'd need to get stitches. He vaguely wondered where the nearest hospital was.

Dropping the glass to the floor, he ran the newly free hand through his tussled hair. He needed a clean up crew there. He swore under his breath. He wished that Caleb had gotten his head out of his ass and joined him on the goddamn hunt.

Exiting the house, he made his way to the Impala. Sliding into the front seat, it took him a few tries to get the damn key in the ignition. Twisting the car on, he pulled away from the house and thanked his lucky stars that it was in the middle of nowhere so there were no neighbors to worry about. The only downside was that he was hurt and didn't know when he would get to the nearest hospital.

Driving with one hand pressed against his side and the other on the wheel, he pressed his right foot down. Cruising down the back roads, he hoped that he would see some semblance of a city soon. He didn't know how much longer he could make it. After a nearly ten-minute drive, street lamps appeared. The houses grew closer together. There was even a little mom and pop shop that he passed. Hope rose in his chest.

Then, his head began to throb painfully. Tiny, black dots started to blur the road and street lamps in front of him. Gripping the steering wheel, he blinked a few times to ground himself with the task at hand. He needed a hospital.

His heart pounded wildly within its chest cavity, threatening to beat out at any moment. Licking his busted lip, he tasted iron on his tongue. Suddenly, everything seemed to slow down. He felt like he was dreaming in slow motion. His eyes grew heavy, his hands letting go slightly of the wheel. His labored breathing evened out. He felt his surroundings slip away as the blackness overtook.

There was a loud crash, metal twisting around metal and glass shattering to bits. There was a pop and something pressing against his chest. He tried to force his eyes open but could not find the strength to make that happen. The darkness of his eyelids had turned a nasty red as people shouted and screamed.

Author's Notes – I am terribly sorry for the lack of updates. I was busy with my last undergraduate finals and getting everything in order for graduate school. With that all out of the way, updates should be happening weekly just like normal. I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! It has not been edited yet, because I wanted to get it out to you as soon as possible. Please, leave a review! They will be great to read of the last few weeks. :)


	4. One Fell Swoop

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Four: One Fell Swoop"**

John sat on the edge of Silver Lake in Valparaiso, Indiana. His bare feet waded into the warm lake, the water rushing around his toes. Leaning back, he propped himself up on his elbows. Glancing to his right, he noticed Mary was gently kicking the water and struggling to hold a two year old Dean still in her arms.

"It doesn't seem real," he commented as he drew his attention back to the lake.

"It never does feel real," replied Mary with her mouth in a straight line.

Sitting up, John reached out his arms for Dean. Immediately the toddler scrambled to him and snuggled into his arms. John held him close, his chin resting on his blonde locks. The last time he was in Valparaiso, he had just come back from Vietnam and was gearing up to move to Lawrence, Kansas. He could never find it in him to return to the town where he grew up.

"I wish I could have talked to her before she died," he whispered. "I just want to tell her how much I love her and appreciate everything she did for me."

"John, she's your mom… she already knew."

"Is it wrong that I don't want to see my dad?" he questioned as he glanced towards his wife.

Mary glanced back at him, a soft smile gracing her freckly features. It was summertime and Mary had been busy working in her garden for the past two months. Her skin failed to tan. Instead, she burned and her freckles seemed to darken immensely. John loved her dark freckles in the summertime because during the rest of the year they were faint and hidden in her pale skin.

"You and your dad don't exactly get along."

"He was a drunk who forced my mom to work two jobs just to support our family. All day, all he did was drink and watch old War World II documentaries and lament about how he got fucked up in the war."

"_John_," she hissed and motioned towards Dean who did not seemed phased by the cuss word.

Sighing, he smiled sheepishly at Mary who merely shook her head. Even after two years of her chastising him for his language in front of Dean, he couldn't quite manage to remember to bit his tongue. He already knew his son was going to have a potty mouth when he was older. It was an inescapable Winchester trait.

"I know we don't have a lot of money because the garage isn't the most successful business in the world, but I would never ever do to you what my dad did to my mom."

Mary reached out and gently touched his shoulder. A wide smile crossed her face, one that showed all her pearly whites and made her freckles scrunch together on her nose. Leaning forward, she kissed him on the cheek.

"You're too hard on yourself, John," she spoke in her sweet molasses voice. "We have enough money for a modest life. Richness doesn't come in the form of currency. It comes in the form of love. We have that."

"Money makes things easier though. I bust my ass daily, and I feel like I'm getting nowhere. I feel like I'm letting you and Dean down."

"You don't let us down, but you work yourself into the ground at the garage."

"I want to give Dean and our future kids more than I had growing up. I feel like I'm failing at that. Maybe I should sell my share of the garage and try to find a new job."

"No! That's your dream job. You've always wanted to own a garage and now you finally do." Mary scooted closer and rested her hand on his chest. "I know we fight a lot about money, but I would never want you to give up your dream. We'll make it work. We always do."

John glanced over at his wife, a soft smile dancing on his features. Leaning towards her, he gave her a peck on her ruby lips. Letting out a sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned back his head. That's when he heard it, a constant beeping that filed into his ears. His brow furrowed, unable to discern what sort of beeping could be occurring by the lake.

Slowly opening his eyes, all he saw was white. Valparaiso and Silver Lake were gone. Dean was no longer in his arms. Glancing to his right, he made out a fuzzy image of a tall blonde in what looked like nurse scrubs.

"A nurse?" he said hoarsely with a smile playing on his lips. "Kinky."

"I wish I could say that's the first time that's ever been said to me but sadly you're as unoriginal as the rest of them," an unfamiliar voice playfully teased.

Blinking a few times, he suddenly realized that his head was splitting. His lip felt torn and chapped. His hand hurt like a motherfucker. A dull ache ripped through his side. Suddenly, the room came into focus. The blonde he saw before him was not his wife. The lake was replaced with a hospital room. Suddenly, the events of what happened all became clear. His chest tightened as the dream slipped through his fingers like smoke.

"Sorry," he replied as he cleared his throat to try to get rid of the hoarseness. "You reminded me of my wife with the blonde hair."

"Your wife? What's her number? I'll call her for you."

"You can't… she's dead."

The nurse handed him a glass of water. He took it with a grateful smile and chugged it down. Water had never tasted better in his whole life.

"There's some cops who want to talk to you when you're ready."

John stared up at the nurse, grateful not to hear any apologies that his wife was dead or to get any pity. He welcomed the change in topic even if it brought bad news.

"What exactly happened?"

"You were in a car accident. You wrapped it around a lamppost. Made so much noise that the neighbors came running out their houses. You sure know how to make a first impression."

John groaned. He remembered passing out behind the wheel, vaguely remembered feeling the impact of the crash before fainting completely.

"Is there, uh, anyone else I can call for you?"

"M'boys… they're staying with a friend. Can you call him?"

"Of course, so you have sons?" she asked as she pulled out a pen from her pocket and looked around for a piece of paper to write on.

"Yeah, two of 'em."

A piece of paper was in her pant pocket. She looked at the front and back to ensure it wasn't important before clicking her pen.

"What's the number?"

John listed off the digits as the nurse jotted them down. Once done, she plopped the pen back in her pocket and held the sheet of paper in-between her fingers.

"What's your name, by the way?"

"John," he said as he struggled to sit up, a piercing pain filling his whole side. "What's yours?"

"Kate."

"It's nice to meet you, Kate."

She folded the corner of the paper in her hands, her eyes lingering on his face for a few seconds. John couldn't help but think she looked like Mary. She was leggy and blonde with faint freckles dancing underneath her blush.

"Uh, can you tell me my injuries? I sort of feel like shit right now."

"I'm not a doctor."

"Then prepare me for what the doctor will tell me."

Kate looked behind her, as though seeing if any doctors or hospital personnel were close by. When she was satisfied that nobody would be listening, she turned around with a slight smile gracing her features.

"Well, your hand suffered a stress fracture. Your side was punctured with something, which pierced through your kidney. This caused some internal bleeding to occur. You were rushed into the ER where they were able to repair the kidney and stitched up your side. You lost a lot of blood too, so you had to have a transfusion." Kate tucked a piece of golden hair behind her ear. "I'm guessing these aren't all car accident injuries."

"I was mugged," the lie slipped off John's tongue with ease. "Luckily, the thug left me my car keys. Or… I guess unluckily considering I crashed my car."

"He stabbed you?" she asked as she nodded to his side.

"I'm thinking he was strung out on drugs, because he shoved a shard of glass in my side," replied John with a frown etched on his features.

"I'm going to go call your kids. I'll send in the cops too so you can get that over with before the boys get here."

"Thanks."

The next hour was a blur. Two cops and a doctor came into his room to listen to his account of being mugged and then fleeing to his car. Luckily, John never carried identification on his during a hunt for this very reason. It was easier to lie about being mugged than it was to describe how he killed a monster to explain the blood and injuries. With the lack of wallet and the injuries, both parties seemed satisfied with his tale. The cops were even going to bring a sketch artist in the next day to make a composite of the mugger.

Once the cops left, Kate wandered back into the room and stood by the doctor while he explained the extent of his injuries and how he wanted to keep him overnight for observation due to all the injuries. John did not protest but merely nodded in a noncommittal way. The doctor ordered Kate to change the bandages on his side before leaving.

"How long am I gonna be stuck here?"

Kate walked around the bed and motioned for John to shrug off the upper half of his hospital gown. He did so without hesitation. Her fingers skirted across his skin and carefully pulled off the bandage.

"At least a day," she replied. "The injuries to your side were extensive."

"Well, a shard of glass will do that to a guy," he replied with a shit-eating grin.

"That's a positive way to look at it."

John let out a chuckle as she finished wrapping a new bandage. When she was done, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Everything seemed so messed up lately. Everything dealing with those hunters, Caleb's aversion to hunting, Dean's quietness… it all seemed to be piling up in a gigantic mound that seemed never ending.

"Daddy!"

John looked beyond Kate to see his youngest bounding into the room with tears hanging off his eyelashes. Scrabbling onto the hospital bed, he plopped down onto his father's chest with his tiny arms gripping either side. John winced, trying not to make a noise because Sammy was holding onto him for dear life. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the tiny child and glanced over at the doorway to see his eldest son walking slowly into the room. His children were his talismans. They kept him grounded, kept him sane, kept him feeling as though there was still love in the world.

"Pastor Jim sa-said that you and the 'Pala got in an accident," Sammy murmured into the folds of his father's hospital gown.

"I'm okay, Sammy," he murmured into the child's messy locks.

"What about the 'Pala?"

The child raised his head off his father's chest and looked up at him with wide, chocolate orbs. Moving his hands until they were cupping the child's cheeks, he smiled up at his youngest. With his thumbs, he wiped away the stray tears that had escaped his eyelashes.

"Nothing that I can't fix."

"'Cause, you're a car doctor," Sammy said matter-of-factly and then looked up at the nurse. "My daddy's a car doctor."

"Oh, is he now?" Kate replied with a playful smile gracing her lips.

"It's a mechanic, not a car doctor, dummy," Dean explained as he stood beside the bed.

"Dean, don't," whispered John.

Dropping his hands from Sammy's face, he snaked one around Sammy's waist and pulled him to his chest. With his free hand, he reached out and grasped Dean's hand with his own. John could tell Sammy was pouting without even looking at him, because Dean was giving his little brother a lopsided apology smile. The two didn't need words to communicate. Their language was a series of smirks, winks, laughs, gestures, and looks. It was a language that nobody fully understood but the two of them.

"Hey, let me know if you need anything," Kate interrupted, the smile still etched onto her features.

"Bye!" Sammy chimed loudly.

"Goodbye. Take good care of your dad."

John smiled his thanks and watched her walk passed the pastor out the door. Jim stepped into the room, standing behind Dean and resting his hands gently on his shoulders.

"I need a clean up crew," John whispered.

"I'll get a few hunters out there ASAP," the pastor replied. "First, what happened?"

"The fucker jumped me."

"No wonder Dean and Sammy have mouths like sailors," replied the pastor with a frown. "All these years, you've been blaming Caleb."

"He's hardly a good influence, Jim."

Usually, a comment like that would have caused Dean to speak up and agree in some snarky way. At that moment, however, he was oddly quiet. His gaze was plastered on his father's face as though he were waiting for something to happen. Squeezing the kid's hand, he tried to snap Dean out of whatever he was thinking but failed to reach him.

"Well, look at who his hunting mentor was," Jim said with a sigh. "Bobby has the worst mouth out of all of you."

"You're the one who paired them up, not me," retorted John. "Hey, speaking of Caleb, I don't want him on the clean up crew."

"I wasn't going to call on him anyways. The last thing he needs to get back in the saddle is a clean up job," the pastor replied dryly as his hands left Dean's shoulders. "I'm going to go call some friends. You should rest."

Rest was not really a viable option. His mind was reeling at everything that had happened – the hunters following him, the smart-mouthed ghoul, the car accident. It had all been too much. Looking down to his left, he noted Sammy's small frame snuggled into his side. He was already fast asleep, his hand gently grasping the folds of his father's hospital gown. Glancing up slightly, he watched as Dean sank down into the nearest chair. The kid looked broken, a shell of himself. It was as though all the years of breaking him out of his melancholy after his mother's death had gone to waste.

There was a scream from outside the hospital room. Dean snapped around, craning his neck to see the commotion. John glanced briefly at the door, not really interested in knowing another family's hardships. He had enough adversities to last for two lifetimes.

"PLEASE! Save my son! He didn't mean it! He- he… it was an accident!" a hysteric woman cried.

"Dean," John whispered, reaching out the hand that was tucked underneath Sammy's slight frame towards his eldest.

His large, green eyes rose to meet his father's gaze. A frown was etched into his brow. Slowly, he grasped his father's hand into his own. Forcing a reassuring smile onto his face, John tried to pull the kid back into reality and ignore the heartbreak that was no doubt happening outside.

"Want to talk about what happened?"

"No," replied Dean.

"I got hurt during the hunt… I passed out and crashed the car. It's nothing we can't fix."

Dean tugged his hand away and quickly wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. Sinking down into the chair, he pulled his legs to his chest and rested his chin on his knee. A god-awful cry vibrated throughout the hospital and John did his best to cast it aside. Instead, he focused all of his attention onto Dean.

"Something always seems to be happening," commented Dean in a tone that sounded unnatural coming from a ten year old as he quickly casted his eyes behind him. "It's only been a week into the new year and we're already in a hospital. It seems like we live in hospitals. I'm sick of hearing people cry when their loved ones die and wondering when…"

He didn't need to finish the sentence for John to know exactly what he was thinking. When would it be John's turn to die? It was only a matter of time with all the time they spent in hospitals. John couldn't help but consider himself lucky. Part of him liked to think Mary was watching over their little family. If angels existed, surely Mary would be one.

"I'm a hunter… it's a dangerous gig. We always bounce back though. All of us. The Winchesters are made of tougher stuff than we're given credit for."

"I just want a year where we don't have to visit a hospital."

John licked his busted lip and wished more than anything he could promise his son that they would never darken a hospital's doors again. He felt at a loss, like the worst father in the world. He wanted to give his sons the world, the moon, the stars… but he couldn't even keep them out of a hospital. He tried his best to provide them the best life he could, but it was never good enough. Dean was always so strained and riddled with grief. Sammy was always defiant and living in ignorant bliss of the situations around him like any normal six year old.

A chill ran up John's spine. It sent shockwaves through his whole body, causing him to shiver involuntarily. The motion caused Sammy to groan and bury himself even further into his father's side. It had left him breathless and disorientated. Glancing up to look at Dean, he saw only a blurry outline of his son. Blinking several times, the images became one again. A vice grip felt like it was tightening around his heart. Suddenly, for reasons he couldn't explain, a wave of sadness washed over him. He felt as though the sun would never shine again, like he was surrounded in darkness, like there was only despair and misery in the world. It was a feeling he had only experienced once before in his life and wanted it to go away more than he could even comprehend. Staring at Dean's freckly features, he willed the feelings to go away.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! I posted it sooner because of the long update between chapters two and three. My treat to you. Now, the real story can begin. :) Please, leave a review!


	5. White

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Five: White"**

**January 11**

After three days in the hospital, John was getting antsy. He wanted to get out of Windom and back to Blue Earth. He wanted to be with his boys to protect them from the hunters who had been oddly quiet as of late. The only thing that made him breathe a little easier was the fact that Jim brought the boys every single day to see him after school.

Oddly enough, Kate came in during every shift to see him as well. They made small talk. Every day, she would promise it was just one more night of observation. Part of him thought she was just trying to keep him from signing out of the hospital against medical advice. The notion annoyed and relieved him at the same time.

"Really, I promise you, tomorrow you are being released," Kate said in a playful tone.

"You tell me that every single day," he replied with a scowl. "I don't believe a word you say."

"You seemed like a flight risk," she retorted with a finger wagging. "I had you pegged as one the minute I saw you. I had to keep you here on false pretenses of just one more day."

John let a soft chuckle escape his lips. He was right. She was trying to get him to stay and rest in the hospital. Something twisted deep in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a good or welcome feeling. It was dark and ominous. It made him feel uneasy in a way that was hard to explain.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. End of discussion," he decided on saying.

"I'm okay with that, because, John, that's truly when you will be released."

"Dad!"

Turning his attention to the door, Sammy came barreling into the room. Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he quickly scrambled up onto the bed and flopped into his father's waiting arms. Sam could be a handful of a child. When someone was injured, however, he became the sweetest kid in the history of the world. He never argued or pouted. He just sought solace in his father's arms.

Dean strolled forward, dropping his backpack next to his brother's and took a seat in the nearest chair. Quickly, John was seeing his eldest develop a strong and silent type of persona. It was hard to remember the days when Dean was like his kid brother, carefree and always looking for attention. The fire not only killed Mary, but it also killed Dean's inner child. It forced him to grow up too quickly.

Kate slipped out of the room without a word, nodding a greeting to the pastor on her way out. Jim entered the room and took a seat next to Dean, his hand reaching out and gently squeezing the boy's shoulder. Sammy squirmed in his arms, twisting and digging into John's side painfully until he was comfortable.

"I'm going to be leaving tomorrow," John announced, "with or without an official medical release."

"Normally, I would say you're a fool to leave against medical advice, but I feel that you need to come home," commented Jim.

Narrowing his eyes, John let the unsaid comments hang between them. For days, he had not seen the hunters. For days, Jim has told him that they had been absent. Apparently, that had not been the case. Anger rose up in John's throat and threatened to burst. He tried to hold it down, tried to calm himself because he did not want to yell in a hospital in front of his sons.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Dean, why don't you take Sammy and get something from the vending machine."

The pastor dug out his wallet and handed a few dollars to Dean. Sammy slid off the bed, his hand reaching out for his big brother. His eyes were wide with concern. Dean and Sammy knew when their dad was mad, knew to steer clear of him when he was about to yell. John Winchester tried to be the best father he could to his sons, protected them and loved them. Except, when he got upset, he often said things he'd regret later.

Dean led his kid brother out of the room. When they were out of earshot, John sat up with fire blazing in his eyes. Jim had no right. His chest heaved.

"What the fucking hell, Jim?" snapped John. "These are my boys! I deserve to know if they're in any fucking danger!"

"If I had told you, you would have been out of the hospital a few hours after your surgery. There's no way you would have stayed. What use would you have been to Dean and Sammy then? You'd only get complications, wear yourself out, find yourself back in the hospital for a longer period of time. I have it under control. They are safe in my house. I have local hunters on alert."

"What are they doing?" the anger in his stomach did not ease in the slightest.

"Staking out the house."

"So, they know I'm not fucking there?"

Frustration bubbled up inside of him. Raking his hand through his already unruly hair, he tried to keep his demons at bay. It felt like ice water was rushing his lungs, slowing drowning him. For the first time in a long time, he just wanted to die. It was all too much. Perhaps the boys would be safer with him gone. Perhaps they'd be happier living a normal life that did not involve hospitals, angry hunters, and monsters. They were the thoughts that had been assaulting his mind for days.

"I think they're trying to scare us," reasoned Jim. "If they were going to harm Dean and Sammy, they would have done so by now. They have had chances and did not take them."

"Maybe they're just biding their time. Maybe they want us to have a false sense of security," John croaked in a hoarse voice.

"You'll be home tomorrow and you'll see they're just trying to scare us into doing something stupid. They don't want to make the first move. That's apparent."

"I need to come home tonight. I need to be with my boys," he protested.

"You need to regain all the strength you can for the boys," reasoned Jim. "Rest for one more night and then come tomorrow. If you arrive tonight, they will know that you are nervous and scared that they will do something. You'd be feeding their expectations. Come tomorrow afternoon and prove to them that they do not have the upper hand – prove that we are not scared by their stalking and presence."

All John could do was nod, paralyzed with a growing fear. For reasons he could not comprehend, he agreed to stay another night in the hospital. He'd leave in the morning, grab a tow truck to get the Impala back to Blue Earth, and tell the hunters in their truck to get the fuck out of their lives.

* * *

**January 12**

It was ten o'clock after the doctors gave him one last check up, told him to take it easy, and let him start on the discharge papers. The overwhelming fear that had gripped him the night before was now a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. Jim would risk his life for Dean and Sammy. They were safe. John and Jim were calling the hunters' bluff.

"How does it feel?" questioned Kate.

He looked up at her, the pen in his hand hovering over the sheet of paper that would garner him his freedom. She was void of her nursing scrubs. In fact, she was in a sweater and jeans.

"I never thought I could love a piece of paper before," he replied with a grin.

"I'm sorry to tell you that it's illegal to marry inanimate objects," she teased playfully as she closed the space between them.

She propped her side against the nurses' desk and watched as he continued to sign forms. There was something about Kate that drew him towards her. Part of him thought it was because of how painstakingly she looked like Mary. Another part of him thought it was because he hadn't had sex in at least four months.

Mary was always present in his dreams. Sometimes, it would be the form of happy memories from long ago. Other times, they were horrific nightmares filled with fire and grief. Then, there were the times when she's stand in front of him as a ghost to chastise him for letting her die and for making her little boys into toy soldiers. Never had he seen her when he was awake until that moment in the hospital.

She was standing behind Kate, a frown etched on her delicate features. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She was in the white nightgown she was wearing when she died. The edges of the gown were frayed from fire. Ash was splattered across her face like war paint. Most disturbing was the blood oozing from a wound across the length of her stomach.

"I don't see it," commented Mary in a cool tone. "You want to fuck her? Miss peppy nurse? Since when have you ever gone for the bright, sunshiny girl? Fuck, John, you always went for the dark, twisty girls because they were just like you – hollow and broken."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. He tried to drive every thought of Mary out of his mind. He breathed in through his mouth and out his nose. Opening his eyes, he quirked an eye past Kate to see that Mary was gone. Glancing at Kate, she looked at him with concern shining in her eyes. Offering the most reassuring smile he could muster, he drew his attention back to the paperwork at hand.

Kate told him it was her day off but she wanted to stop by to say goodbye. Then, she proceeded to invite him over to her apartment for some lunch. She said he deserved a good, home cooked meal after days of nasty hospital food. John debated for a few seconds before he agreed. He needed to get his head back on straight before getting back to his boys.

Lunch never started. As soon as they entered Kate's little apartment, their lips were crushing into each other. Their hands were already all over each other, stroking and grabbing various body parts.

Part of John screamed to stop what he was about to do but some unknown force drove him forward. Never had he had sex with any random woman that Dean and Sammy had met. It was unthinkable that any of these one-night stands would meet his children – Mary's children. The thought gnawed away at him even though he was certain that she would be another nameless, faceless nurse who blurred together with all the rest.

Kicking off his boots, he followed Kate into the living room of her quaint apartment. Pulling away from the kiss, he looked around the apartment. It wasn't how he pictured it at all. There was a bookcase with medical books pouring off the shelves. A weird sculpture of a heart where you could put the pieces in like jigsaw pieces.

"I wanna go to medical school," she said in a soft tone and snapped his attention to her. "I thought nursing would be enough, but I want to be a surgeon. I want a heart in my hand and repair it and know that I saved a life."

"What's stopping you?"

"Busy paying off undergraduate loans," she replied with a wave of the hand before attaching his lips to his neck. "As soon as they're paid back, probably in a year or two, I'm going to go back to school. I've been studying for the MCATs already."

"You should," he breathed out as her lips tickled his ear.

"I will. I got nothing stopping me. No boyfriend, no kids, no daunting house mortgage."

John turned towards her, closing what little space there was between them. Cupping her cheek into his hand, he leaned forward and their lips met. It sent an electric shock through him that jumbled his thoughts into a pile of puddy. All thoughts of doubt quickly escaped his mind as her hand snaked around his neck.

"Wanna help me study to be a surgeon?" she murmured against his lips.

Pulling back, he noticed the smirk gracing her features. Her fingers tangled into his flannel shirt and tugged him gently out of the living room. She led him into the bedroom with only the bare essentials of bedroom furniture.

When they reached the bed, John slid his hands up her side. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. Shrugging off his leather jacket, he tossed it to the ground and crawled onto the bed on top of her. He straddled her hips, hovering above her.

John brushed a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. She looked beautiful, nearly angelic lying beneath him. After Mary's death, he'd had sex with other women before. It was only natural, like some primal need. Never had he had sex with a blonde before. It was irrational, but he felt like he was cheating on Mary by having sex with another blonde.

"I never do this," she breathed huskily.

"Me either," he replied although in a totally different context than she was referring to.

"I gotta admit though, I got a thing for single dads."

Her fingers ripped his flannel shirt open, a few buttons flying in either direction. Twisting his hand into her hair, he pulled her face close to his and captured her lips into a bruising kiss as she fumbled with the buckle of his jeans.

* * *

**Blue Earth, Minnesota**

Dean exited the school with Sammy at his side. The kid's shoulder bumped against his, but he barely took notice. There was a more pressing matter at hand and that was finding their father. He was to be released from the hospital and would be back in Blue Earth the same day. He glanced around the front of the school for Pastor Jim's car and immediately spotted it.

"Come on," Dean urged his kid brother.

The two walked briskly to the car, anticipation building up within Dean. He faltered in his stride when he noticed that only Pastor Jim was in the car. Their father was nowhere to be seen. Dread bubbled inside of him as he opened the back door for Sammy. Once the kid was inside, Dean slammed the door shut and climbed into the front seat.

"Good day, boys?" asked Jim as his gaze flickered behind them at a familiar truck that had been a permanent feature across the street from the pastor's house for the past few days.

"It was okay," commented Sammy and was not afraid to show his disappointment.

"Where's Dad?" questioned Dean as Jim pulled out of his parking spot.

"Probably on his way home now. He had to be released. Then, he had to get a tow truck company to bring him and the Impala back here. I'm sure he'll be home soon."

Dean didn't say anything but merely nodded his head. The ride back to Pastor Jim's ranch house was a quiet one. Dean didn't feel like talking and, surprisingly, neither did Sammy. Perhaps the thing that unnerved Dean most was the truck that followed them to the ranch.

Pastor Jim made them dinner, which consisted of mac and cheese and hotdogs. He made extra for John but he failed to show up. That caused Dean to lose his appetite. Instead, he pushed the food around on his plate and miserably watched as Sammy did the same.

After dinner, or lack thereof, Jim cleared the table and placed the leftovers in plastic containers. He told the Winchesters to work on their homework. Sammy did so without hesitation, because the little freak liked doing schoolwork. Dean opened his book and pretended to learn how to do long division.

It was nine o'clock when Pastor Jim picked up the phone. Dean's heart caught in his throat as he wondered whom he was going to send to find his dad. Except, Pastor Jim only called Irene. Dean knew that Irene was not going to go out and find his dad.

"I wanted to ask you if any hunters have been following you as of late," Pastor Jim spoke in a whispered tone, his eyes watching the Winchester children closely.

Dean pretended not to listen. He narrowed his eyes at the division problem but kept his ears opened. He craved information that he was deemed too young to know. It was entirely unfair.

"No, no, that's good. Has Caleb mentioned anything? I don't want to alarm him after what happened."

There was a noise in the living room. Dean jumped out of his chair and ran in the direction it came from. He could hear Sammy running behind him, trying to match his speed. Once in the living room, he saw John Winchester locking the front door behind him.

"Dad!" screamed Dean as he closed the space between him and his father.

John knelt down and caught his eldest into a welcoming embrace. Sammy was not far behind and demanded to join the hug. Dean moved over to allow his kid brother into the fold. A wide smile was spread across his face as he hugged his father's neck as though his life depended on it.

Dean pulled back from the embrace and frowned. His father's face was paler than it had been before. His eyes failed to hold its usual twinkle that was reserved for his boys. There was no smile dancing on his colorless lips. Dark circles akin to bruises were starting to formulate underneath his eyes.

"Daddy, you're home!" breathed Sammy with excitement lacing his words. "I missed you!"

"I missed you too, Sammy," he replied as he looked up.

He was staring somewhere beyond Dean. Whipping around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary behind him. Turning back to look at his father, he saw a look of pure panic outlining his face.

"Dad…" Dean trailed off but John did not look at him.

Reaching out a hand, he gently laid a hand on his father's shoulder. He jolted, as though the touch electrocuted him. His eyes were blazing as he turned his attention to his eldest son. Dean frowned deeply.

"Dad, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He shook his head. "I'm just tired."

"Wanna go to bed?" asked Sammy. "Dean and I will sleep with you!"

A forced smile crossed John's features as he hauled Sammy up into his arms and wrapped his free arm around Dean's shoulders. He led them into their spare bedroom and told them to get in their pajamas. Sammy hastily changed and waited impatiently for Dean. Once dressed, the two walked into John's room.

He sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but his boxers and torn Marines shirt. His head was in his hands. Sammy did not notice the change in his father, because he ran straight to the bed and plopped under the covers. Soon enough, John followed suit. Lying on his side, he draped an arm around the kid. Dean crawled over his father and brother until he he settled into the spot closest to the wall. There was no doubt in Dean's mind. Something was wrong with his dad.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! Please, leave a review! They fill my muse and make me write write write. :)


	6. Darkest Before Dawn

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Six: Darkest Before Dawn"**

**January 20**

John didn't know how much more he could take. For a week, all he saw was Mary. She didn't allow him to sleep, to rest, to even breathe half the time. She was constantly standing by him, a frown etched permanently into her forehead and negative words slipping off her tongue like molasses. It was only a matter of time before he went batshit crazy.

"Those hunters are still following our boys, John," she commented from the corner of the bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl fixated on her features. "Are you going to let them die like you let me die?"

Tears burned John's eyes but he refused to let them fall. Closing his eyes, he furiously shook his head to get her out of his mind. She wasn't real. She wasn't real. She wasn't fucking _real_. Quirking an eye open, Mary was gone. A breath that he didn't know he was holding escaped his lips.

There were two loud raps on the door before it burst open. Caleb Lyons entered the room with a shit-eating grin on his face. The smile quickly fell from his features as soon as his eyes landed on his friend.

"What the fuck, Johnny? It's three in the afternoon. You're still in bed and only in your boxers – which, hell, I don't want to see you half naked so can you get on some fucking clothes?"

It must have slipped his mind that Caleb was arriving that day. With everything that had been going on, the days blurred together. The hunters had been permanent fixtures outside of the ranch. Mary's illusion had been a permanent fixture inside the house. Sammy had been a bouncing, talkative child as per usual. Dean had been brooding and worrying like normal. Jim had pretended to be blissfully ignorant of anything negative but worried silently.

"Want to give me some privacy?" he snapped harsher than he intended to.

"Listen, I just want my money."

"What money?" John asked as he stood up and grabbed a t-shirt off the bottom of the bed.

"Your youngest has been bugging me over the phone for days to take him out shopping and get a gift for his big brother's birthday."

Slipping the shirt over his head, he kept the groan in his throat. Walking to the desk chair, he grabbed his jeans and quickly shoved the right leg and then the left leg through the holes.

"So you promise to take Sammy shopping and I have to foot the bill?"

"I already bought Dean a present," argued Caleb. "You think I'm mister moneybags and can buy Sam's present for him as well?"

Snatching his wallet off the bedside table, he pulled out a twenty and a ten. He held it out to the younger hunter who took the bills with a wide smirk. He felt like all his boys and Caleb did was con him.

"You look like shit," Caleb commented as he pocketed the money.

"You look like sunshine too, jackass," snapped John sarcastically.

"What the hell crawled up your ass and died?"

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he closed his eyes and counted to five. He had been on edge for days, snapping at everyone and just wishing to crawl up in bed so he could sleep for days. Opening his eyes, he offered a forced, apologetic smile.

"Bad day. Bad week. Hell, bad fucking year and it isn't even February."

"Jim told me about the hunters who have been following you and the boys."

"That's not your concern, Caleb."

"It's my problem," he retorted. "I fired the first shot and now their gung-ho, Hardy Boy friends are stalking you guys."

"If roles were reversed, I would have shot the fuckers too. Therefore, it's not your problem. It's _our_ problem, because we're idiots who would shoot first and then ask questions later. We get so wrapped up in all of this bullshit that we become someone else entirely. Half the time, I don't even know who I am anymore."

Caleb propped his side into the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. There was a rare frown plastered across his features. In all the years that Caleb and John had been friends, he had never seen the younger hunter so demure. The kid was constantly joking, laughing, telling some outlandish story.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having such a hard time about what went down in Pennsylvania?" questioned Caleb in a voice fit for a child. "I thought I was alone."

"It's not just what went down in Pennsylvania, kid. It's everything. It's just one bad year after the next. It's nonstop bullshit."

"I thought about getting out of hunting," Caleb said in a more normal tone. "Then, I realized, I didn't have anything to fall back on. Hunting had become my life, and I don't know how to walk away from that. I kept thinking of Dominic and that demon that possessed him. I thought, you can't let him down. You gotta find that bitch demon that killed him. I feel like I got sucked into hunting and there's no way out now. We're stuck, Johnny."

A door slammed in the distance and screams of "Caleb!" rang throughout the house. Caleb put a smile on his face and turned to look out into the hallway. Soon enough, Dean and Sammy appeared outside the bedroom door. Sammy wrapped his arms around the hunter's knees while Dean hung back and extended his hand to receive a high five.

Caleb pried the tiny arms off his legs. Snaking his hands underneath Sammy's armpits, he hauled the kid up and rested him onto his hip. Reaching out a free hand, he ruffled Dean's fine blonde hair which only made the kid scowl. John watched with a frown etched onto his face. It was as though Caleb turned on a switch nearly instantly and pushed away all of the bad thoughts that plagued his mind. It was remarkable yet incredibly sad at the same time.

"Caleb, are we gonna go on our _secret mission_?" Sammy asked, whispering the last two words.

"I guess I kind of have to go with you, don't I?" replied Caleb dryly as Dean narrowed his eyes at the two.

"Be careful," commented John. "Watch your back and don't let him out of your sight."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Aye! Aye!" Sammy chimed in.

"Squirt and I are leaving. Don't wait up!"

With that, Caleb carried the youngest Winchester out of the bedroom. Dean turned towards his father with a question painted across his features.

"Sammy wanted to go birthday shopping for you," John answered the unasked question. "He wanted Caleb's exciting company for the task."

"Who'd want to go shopping with him?" questioned Dean as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed. "I bet he would just hit on all the big breasted girls who are off spending all their money on lipstick and pantyhose."

"Sounds like a productive trip to the mall," he replied as he sat down next to his son. "Lemme guess, you're jealous they're off having fun without you."

"No."

"They're doing it for you."

"I said I wasn't jealous."

"Go do your homework then."

Panting his son gently on the knee a couple times, John stood up and exited the bedroom to finally start his day. Soon enough, he heard Dean's footfalls not far behind him.

* * *

**January 21**

John stood in a cabin, a smoking gun clenched in his hand, a white Caleb at his side, and two dead bodies on the ground. The shot rang in his head as he stared at the aftermath of their foolish act of revenge.

"We _fuckin'_ killed these guys!" Caleb commented in a shaky voice.

"We gotta clean up," John said in a robotic, automatic way. "Wipe your prints and let's get the hell out of dodge."

John rummaged through his pockets looking for something to wipe the place down with but couldn't find anything. Caleb wasn't helpful at all. Ghastly white, he stood rooted in place shaking as his eyes bored into the dead bodies on the bedroom floor. They were idiots. They were fucking idiots.

"Always looking for revenge," a familiar female voice rang from behind.

John whipped around to see Mary standing in the doorway with her white, bloody nightgown. Upon seeing her, he instantly knew that he was dreaming. He just had to wake up and the images would be gone. The blood and dead bodies would vanish. Mary would evaporate. Even though he was pained to see her in this form, a part of him didn't want her to leave him again. He missed her so much sometimes. There was a constant ache in his heart that never seemed to dull – no matter the time that passed.

"Revenge for my death made you lead _my_ boys into a life of monsters, death, and blood. You caused Dean to be shot! Now, they're both going to die at the hands of some maniac hunters who also are driven by revenge! Don't you see, it's a never-ending cycle!"

"They're not going to die," whispered John.

"They already did! Look!"

His eyes drifted down to the floor unconsciously. The two dead hunters were gone. In their place were the lifeless bodies of Dean and Sammy. A sob worked its way up into his throat and nearly choked him. Caleb was cradling Dean in his arms, tears pouring down his face as he mumbled nearly incoherent words of losing more brothers.

Kneeling down next to Sammy, he brushed a greasy brown curl off his forehead. Tears welled up in his eyes, distorting his vision until he couldn't make out anything. His body collapsed over his youngest son as all will to live escaped his body.

"You killed our sons, you bastard!"

That's when a jolt of electricity shook his body. He bolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat and heaving for breath. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably after the nightmare. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, willing the images of Dean and Sammy out of his mind.

Sliding off the bed onto shaky feet, he made his way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Opening the boys' bedroom door as quietly as possible, he let out a breath he did not know he was holding at the sight of his two sons. The noise caused his eldest to stir. Dean tried to sit up, his right arm trapped underneath the sleeping form of his little brother.

"Dad, what's wrong?" there was panic in his voice.

"Nothin'. Go back to bed, kiddo."

Snapping the door closed, he rested his forehead against the wood. He didn't know how long he stood there, trying to regulate his breathing back to normal. Finally, he turned away from the door only to see Mary standing in the hallway waiting for him. This time, she was void of any blood. Her features were softer akin to when they were happily married. She radiated light, her hair nearly glowing.

"I want you to come with me," she said in an even tone. "Dean and Sammy will only be safe if they're not with you. Come home with me, John."

Ignoring the words, John walked briskly away and started to head for the kitchen. Opening the kitchen door, he ran into Caleb. The younger hunter swore in surprise and nearly dropped the package of Oreos in his hand.

"What the hell are you doing up?" snapped Caleb.

"Do you know where Jim keeps the wine?"

The only alcoholic beverage that Jim kept in the house was wine and that was mainly used for church functions. The question made Caleb smirk widely as he popped another cookie into his mouth.

"You looking to get drunk?"

"Do you know where the wine is or not?" snapped John.

"I just got back from the only bar in this forsaken town," he replied as John rolled his eyes. "Their last call was just past midnight. I wasn't done drinking! So, if you get drunk with me, I'll tell you where the wine is."

"Fine, Caleb, we can get drunk together," he conceded in an annoyed tone.

"Church basement."

An hour and a half later, John and Caleb were lying on the cement floor of the basement with two nearly empty bottles of wine next to them. The alcohol had blocked out any vision of Mary, which he was greatly appreciative of. For the first time in days, John felt sleep welcome him with open arms. Before he knew it, he was out like a light.

The next thing he remembered was the pounding in his head and an arm draped across his chest. Quirking an eye open, he turned to his right to see the passed out body of Caleb Lyons. The heavy arm over him belonged to the younger hunter. Groaning, he shoved the arm off him and sat up. The room spun as Caleb grunted.

His back was killing him, aching painfully from sleeping on the cement floor all night. He was too old to drink all night and pass out on some random, hard surface. Standing up, John slowly made his way out of the church. Glancing at the side of the road, the truck of the hunters was oddly missing. It was a scene that he had not seen in days.

He entered the kitchen to see Dean and Sammy munching on ham sandwiches. Pastor Jim was sitting across from them with a cup of coffee. They were chatting about school and Dean's birthday. Grabbing a cup of caffeine for himself, he took a seat next to Jim with a sigh.

"Good morning, John, or, should I say, afternoon?"

His only response was a grunt as he took a few sips of coffee. The liquid had never tasted more welcoming in his entire life.

"Where's Caleb?" Sammy asked with a mouthful of bread and ham.

"In the church basement surrounded in empty bottles of wine," John commented dryly as he shot the pastor a knowing look.

"You both owe me new wine," Jim said sternly.

"Put it on my tab," John replied gruffly.

John looked across the table at his sons. Sammy, satisfied with the answer to his question, turned his attention back on his lunch. Dean, on the other hand, lost all interest in his sandwich and was staring intently at his father as though trying to decipher all the secrets of the world. Shifting his eyes down at his coffee, he took a sip and made an effort not to meet Dean's eye.

Not five minutes later, Caleb stumbled into the kitchen and made a beeline to the coffee. Then, he slumped down into a chair next to Sammy. The child enthusiastically said his hello only to get a moan in response. Sammy frowned and mumbled something about poor manners.

"Why aren't you brats in school?" questioned Caleb.

"Because it's Saturday," replied Dean.

"Don't you know the days of the week?" inquired Sammy. "Saturday comes after Friday and before Sunday. On Saturday and Sunday, there's no school because they're S days."

"What does an S have anything to do with no school?" Dean asked in an annoyed tone.

"'Cause school days start with M, T, W, and F."

"Well, now that we know Sammy knows his letters and days of the week, can we not talk about the philosophy of the days of the week?" Caleb asked.

John glanced up at his youngest, knowing that a slew of questions were about to slip off the tip of his tongue. There was an unknown word that Caleb said that would drive Sammy crazy until he knew what it meant. Philosophy wasn't exactly the easiest thing to explain to a six year old.

There was a flash of white and John turned his head to see Mary gliding towards him. She bent down until her lips were tickling his ear, her breath against his cheek.

"John, I miss you," she said huskily. "I want you to be with me again. Dean and Sammy have each other. They'll be okay. I _need_ you."

"Daddy!"

John snapped his head towards his youngest who was pouting in his chair. Looking back to where Mary was standing, she was gone. Except, he could still feel her breath on his face.

"What, Sammy?" he asked in a weary voice.

"Tell Caleb to stop being mean. I just wanna know what phil-o-so-le is."

"Caleb, leave the boys alone."

With that, John stood up and excused himself from the kitchen. He made his way into his bedroom, Mary trailing behind him.

* * *

**January 24**

It was six o'clock in the morning when Dean and Sammy woke him up. Sammy clamored up on the bed and shook his father awake with excitement dancing on his face. Dean sat on the edge of the bed with a soft smile gracing his features. Quirking an eye open, he glanced at each child before sitting up. His arms automatically pulled the youngest child onto his lap and close to his chest.

"Guess what today is!" Sammy squealed.

"Hmm…" John played along tiredly. "Garbage day?"

Dean laughed as he leaned back on the bed, his elbows propping him up. The youngest Winchester did not understand the concept of teasing as well as his older brother. So, instead of a laugh, there was a huff that escaped his throat and a scowl that formed between his eyebrows.

"Daddy, it's Dean's birthday..." he said in a serious voice.

"He knows, Sammy," commented Dean.

John motioned for the two to get off the bed. Once he had freedom of movement, he grabbed a t-shirt and stuffed his limbs through the holes. Then, he grabbed a pair of jeans and quickly laced his legs through. He followed his two sons to the kitchen where Caleb looked half asleep and Pastor Jim was making blueberry pancakes.

"Can Dean open presents before school?" Sammy pleaded. "I wanna show him what I got him!"

"Sure," replied John as he took a seat next to the younger hunter.

"Grab my gift too, you little monster!" Caleb shouted after Sammy as he ran out of the room as fast as his little legs would carry him.

"_Caleb_," the pastor hissed sternly.

"I could have called him a little bitch like I wanted but I refrained from doing so."

Dean snorted, a grin appearing on his features. Happiness in the kid's face had been vacant for a while. He was constantly worrying about something or taking on the role of caretaker to his kid brother. John couldn't help but think he was a terrible father for not helping Dean laugh more.

John tore his gaze away from Dean because Mary had appeared in the kitchen. She took a seat next to their son, her hand reaching out to brush his blonde hair off his forehead. Dean did not move, did not flinch at the touch. It was as though he was completely oblivious to the fingertips dancing across his skin. It took John a few seconds to realize that she wasn't really there. Closing his eyes, he shook his head to make her disappear. The trick always worked. It had again. She was gone when he reopened his eyes.

"You need to learn to watch your mouth around these kids," commented Jim as he flipped the pancake. "Dean's already starting to swear because of you."

"I don't think Dean's bad habits are entirely my fault," retorted Caleb. "John's mouth is just as bad as mine, and he lives with the guy."

"I'm an adult," commented Dean with a frown. "I can swear if I want to."

"You're not an adult. You're ten years old," snapped the pastor.

"I turned eleven today."

"Didn't you hear, Pastor Jim? Eleven is the new thirty," Caleb said with a smirk.

"Oh, Lord, if eleven is the new thirty, I shutter to think of what you believe forty is."

"That's right, you turn the big four-zero next month!"

"You're going to be _forty_?" exclaimed Dean. "Dad, did you know Pastor Jim is going to be _forty_ next month?"

John looked up at Dean at the mention of his name. Honestly, he had only been half listening about swearing and ages. Blinking a few times, he noticed Jim placing pancakes around the table. Glancing back at Dean, he noticed his oldest was waiting for an answer.

"What was the question?"

"Did you know that Pastor Jim is turning forty next month?" he asked slowly, his brow furrowing.

"Uh, yeah, I guess I did."

"Do you know how old your dad is going to be this year?" questioned Caleb, stirring the pot more than it needed to be.

"Um… thirty?" replied Dean.

"Pfft. Try thirty-_six_!"

"No way!"

Caleb laughed, clamping a hand on John's shoulder with a proud look crossing his features. There were loud footfalls scampering down the hallway. Sammy entered the kitchen, breathless with gift bags clenched in either hand. No doubt had the child heard the antics carrying on and wanted to be apart of the fun. Upon seeing the pancakes finished, he dropped the bags on the floor and scurried to the table. His excitement of giving Dean is gift was long gone.

"What's going on?" the child asked breathlessly before shoving a forkful of pancake into his mouth.

"Pastor Jim is turning forty next month, and Dad's turning thirty-six in April," answered Dean.

"I'm turning seven in May."

"I don't get it," commented Caleb as he pointed his fork at Sammy. "Pastor Jim always says you're such a precocious little boy, yet you don't understand the context of our conversations."

"That means smart," Sammy supplied. "Pastor Jim taught me that word."

"I think he meant precocious in a book-smart way and not a street-smart way," supplied Dean.

Sammy frowned, turning his attention to his father for help on whether or not the two were making fun of him. Except, John was looking beyond his sons. Mary was sitting on the kitchen counter, her bare heels connecting with the cabinet doors.

"Caleb. Dean. Stop," Pastor Jim hissed. "Let's enjoy Dean's birthday and not cause any trouble."

John barely touched his pancakes. He was too busy keeping his head down and trying to block out Mary's voice. Before long, Jim was clearing the plates and Sammy was plopping the presents onto the table. John asked his youngest to grab his present from under the bed, which the child did without complaint.

"You better open up Sammy's first," Caleb whispered as he moved across the table to sit next to Dean. "He nearly wet himself in excitement when we were buying your gift."

When Sammy reentered the kitchen, he sat John's present in the small pile and took a spot next to his father. He sat on his knees, his upper half nearly lying on the table. John looked up, concentrating on Dean's face and not looking anywhere else. He picked out the large Fraggle Rock gift bag, which caused Sammy to make a squeak of excitement.

There were two television shows that Sammy loved. When they were on the television, it was hard to pull the kid away from the screen. Those two shows were Thundercats and Fraggle Rock. John knew more about those two shows than any other show in the history of television.

Dean pulled out a plush doll version of one of the main characters. He narrowed his eyes at his kid brother, a chuckle dancing on the tip of his tongue. Reaching into the bag again, he pulled out a Fraggle Rock lunch box and thermos.

"You're like Gobo!" announced Sammy proudly. "So I got you a Gobo!"

"Why am I Gobo?" questioned Dean, holding the doll at arms length as though trying to decipher his brother's conclusion.

"'Cause he's the leader of the group," Sammy said in a tone that suggested that was the most obvious answer. "He's the one who goes on the adventures to outer space to get notes from Uncle Traveling Mike and explores the tunnels."

"He said I was Red," Caleb said in a flat, irritated tone. "So, I labeled him Mokey."

"You're so weird, Sam," Dean said affectionately.

"You're welcome," he replied with a wide grin.

Dean sat the plush Gobo in the seat next to him and reached for Caleb's small package. A leather journal was underneath the paper. Flipping through the pages, there were handwritten notes and pictures of various supernatural creatures. Caleb leaned over and stopped the kid from flipping through any further.

"I copied the information out of mine and Johnny's journals. The pictures are from some of Bobby's texts. If he starts bitching and asking where some of the pages disappeared to, don't rat me out or else I will whip your fucking ass. You copy?" the young hunter said sternly.

"10-4."

Caleb reached out and ruffled the birthday boy's hair. Dean only grinned in response. For the first time since John had met Caleb Lyons, he was glad that the kid was in the picture. He was the big brother figure that Dean needed – one who didn't hold the horrible baggage of watching Mary burn alive in a fire. After John was gone, Caleb would watch out for Dean and Sammy. He'd gladly take them him, treat them like his own…

John closed his eyes, a sigh dancing on his lips. Thoughts of death and suicide were running rampant in his mind. He couldn't shake the urge to grab a gun and end it all. He was tired of living in constant fear that he was endangering his children. He couldn't bear to see Mary any longer. It was a roller coaster ride with him – one day telling him how he was going to be the reason their sons die and the next begging him to join her in the afterlife.

"Whoa, Dad," Dean broke him out of his melancholy.

His eldest was holding his father's present in his hand. It was a .45 caliber Colt pistol with ivory grips. Mary had bought him the gun when Dean was still in diapers for a birthday gift. It was the pistol he relied on the most while hunting. Dean loved the gun. In fact, it was the gun that he used when learning how to shoot. John hadn't planned on giving it to his son, but the events as of late had driven him to his gift choice. He felt like he was dying, his world crashing in on him in ways that he couldn't fully comprehend. If he was gone, he wanted Dean to have the gun that his mother had once given him.

"This is your favorite gun," he breathed in awe.

"Your mother gave it to me," John managed to get out without choking despite the fact that Mary was looming over Dean. "I wanted you to have it."

"Maybe this is your dad telling you he's allowing you into the family business," jested Caleb as he elbowed the kid in the side.

"_Caleb_," hissed the pastor. "He's too young."

"What's the family business?" questioned Sammy in confusion.

"Professional skeet shooters," replied Dean with a straight face.

"That's shotguns, idiot," Caleb added.

Dean looked at Caleb with a look that clearly read _shut up, I know but he doesn't_. The exchange only confused Sammy more. He looked between the two before glancing over at his dad. Nobody said anything. It was eerily quiet in the kitchen, which immediately meant that this was an adult topic that was not up for discussion. Leaning back in his chair, Sammy huffed as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had been left out of a lot of adult conversations in the past but this one was different. This time, Dean was involved and knew what was going on. It had never happened before.

"They're teasing, Sammy," John decided on saying before standing up. "You boys need to get ready for school. Caleb, can you drive them?"

"Yeah, man, sure," the younger hunter replied with furrowed brows.

"Dad, are you okay?" questioned Dean.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I just got a headache. We'll celebrate more tonight."

Making his way into the bedroom, he immediately noticed Mary sitting idly on the bed. A small smile graced her porcelain features. In that moment, John knew it was only of time before he succumbed to her. He had a feeling, deep within him, that day was sooner than he expected.

Author's Notes – This was, by far, the hardest chapter to a story I have ever written. I must have rewritten it five times, so that is why this is such a late update. I wanted to really show the slow unraveling of John's mind. Although, it is the longest chapter of the story! Please leave a review and let me know how I did! :)


	7. Port in the Storm

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Seven: ****Port in the Storm"**

**January 25**

It only takes a second to change everything. A split second can be the difference between life and death. A miniscule movement could be made in a mere second and save a life. That's exactly what happened when John Winchester had the cold barrel of a revolver grazing against his temple. He was ready to pull the trigger, his finger practically itching in anticipation. Except, exactly when he pulled the trigger back, Dean had yanked his father's arm. The round impacted with the ceiling causing some of the popcorn to rain upon their heads. The sound, it vibrated awfully throughout the tiny bedroom.

Dean stood next to his father, eyes wider than what was humanly possible. He was shaking like a leaf, his legs barely holding him up straight. His breathing was ragged, his face so deathly pale that he barely looked alive. John sat very still, his gaze resting on Dean's tear-stained cheeks.

"I'm sorry," John croaked. "I can't do it anymore."

"Dad…" he whispered, the words choked on tears.

Suddenly, Jim was in the bedroom and taking in the scene before him. He snapped at Dean, yelling at him to get out of the room. Dean stood his ground mostly because he couldn't move his legs even if he wanted to. The pastor was next to him in a few strands, his hands prying the revolver out of John's grasp.

"Dean, _go_."

He took a step back, his eyes never leaving his father's pale face. Jim slid the revolver between the small of his back and the waste band of his jeans. Standing up, he crossed his arms over his chest and glanced over at the younger Winchester.

"Send Caleb in," the pastor said in a gentler tone.

In a dazed fog, Dean exited the bedroom. He felt like he was in a dream, his legs moving automatically. They led him to the living room to see Sammy curled up in a ball on Caleb's lap. He was shaking, his sobs muffled by the fabric of the hunter's Metallica t-shirt. The hunter's arms were securely around the child's small frame, a pistol clenched in his hand and resting against Sammy's back. Caleb leaned down and whispered something into the child's ear. Immediately, Sammy struggled to untangle himself from the cuddle and darted towards his big brother at lightning speed. When he reached him, he wrapped his little arms around his brother's waist in a death grip.

"Caleb," Dean said as the hunter got up and started to walk towards the bedroom. "What's going on?"

"Tell ya in a few, runt."

Caleb tried not to look at Dean or Sammy. He feared if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave them alone. He needed to. He had to go find out what the fuck had just happened in the bedroom. He assumed that John was the one who pulled the trigger since there wasn't even sounds of struggle or yells for help. Ever since he arrived in Minnesota, he noticed John acting odd. Then again, he thought after what they did in Pennsylvania, he was just dealing with things in his own way. Except, the gun firing, Dean looking like he was scared shitless… there was something more wrong than he ever anticipated.

Entering the bedroom, he noticed John on the bed with his head buried in his hands. He was shaking and barely audible whimpers resonated in the room. The pastor was sitting in a desk chair across from John, his arms crossed over his chest and head cocked to the side as though he was trying to figure out what was going on. Closing the door quietly behind him with a snap, Caleb joined the two hunters.

"What's going on?" he questioned.

"John tried to kill himself," the pastor replied in an even tone.

"What? _Why_?" Caleb reeled onto John, crouching down in front of him so he could pry his hands away from his face. "What the fuck, Johnny?"

"I can't… I can't do it anymore," he gasped through the tears spilling down his cheeks.

For the first time since he arrived at the ranch, he noticed John looked pale with dark circles akin to bruises underneath his eyes. The whites of his eyes had a pink tint to it. His lips were so void of color that they blended perfectly into his skin. It was enough to shock Caleb up into a standing position and step away from the older hunter – the man who had been like a big brother to him ever since they met.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" breathed Caleb as he whipped around to look at the pastor. "I thought he was hunting a fuckin' ghoul! They don't do this…"

"I don't think the ghoul did this," the pastor replied gently. "I don't know what's wrong with him."

"Nothing is wrong with me!" shouted John. "I just don't want to go on with life! What's the point? Every single year it's something different! First, Mary died! Then, Sammy has to have an operation on his throat! Then, Dean gets shot and nearly dies! It never fucking ends! They'd be better off without me!"

"Caleb, will you go to the kitchen and call Bobby? He's better at diagnosing supernatural illnesses better than I am," the pastor kept his voice void of emotion as he just stared at John.

"I'm not sick," snapped John.

Caleb backed out of the bedroom, glad to be out of the situation. He had never seen anything like it. Sure, John seemed more depressed lately, more snappy, more disconnected. He never would have guessed he was suicidal or was suffering from some weirdo, supernatural disease. If Caleb was being honest with himself, he didn't think whatever was wrong with John was supernatural.

"Caleb!"

The taller blonde turned around to see the eleven-year-old running towards him. His eyes were wide in fear and his lips twisted in determination. The twenty-five year old suppressed a groan. The young hunter had one weakness: the Winchester children. They could wheel and deal anything out of him. Except, the last thing he wanted to do was spill the details of John's condition to his sons. Especially since what information he had was shaky and not really reliable.

"Caleb, what's wrong with my dad?"

The kid looked much older than eleven in that moment. There were lines on his face that no child should have so young. Dean Winchester not only cared for his little brother, he also cared for his father. To see him in such a state, it was nearly unbearable.

"He's sick."

"Why aren't you taking him to a doctor?"

"Because, dude, he's not go to a doctor sick. He's the kind of sick Bulldog Bobby needs to take care of."

Dean looked behind him to see Sammy huddled in the corner of the couch. His chin rested on his drawn knees and his large, chocolate eyes stared at his brother and Caleb talking in hushed tones.

"I thought Dad was hunting a ghoul," commented Dean. "Ghouls don't make people…"

He trailed off, swallowing a lump in his throat. The images flashed across his mind in rapid succession. It had seemed too surreal to even comprehend. His dad was a lot of things, but depressed and suicidal was not one of them.

"He was and ghouls don't make you sick. I'm going to call Bulldog and get him over here. If anyone can figure out what's wrong, he can."

"Caleb…" Dean lowered his voice and sounded more his age, "I think my dad tried to kill himself."

The sadness in Dean's voice stopped Caleb dead in his tracks. He could not confirm that bit of information but he couldn't deny it either. He was stuck and forced into silence. He could not be the person who helped the kid break completely. He was barely hanging on by a thread.

"I don't know what's wrong with your dad," Caleb answered honestly. "Whatever it is, we'll fix him."

With that, Caleb made his way to the kitchen to call Bobby. If anyone could make John Winchester a kickass, no-nonsense hunter again… it was Bobby Singer. He could fix any supernatural problem with his hands tied behind his back.

"Hey, Bobby, it's Caleb. You need to be at Jim's right away. There's something wrong with Johnmy…"

* * *

**January 26**

Dean laid on his back, his gaze fixated on the popcorn ceiling above him. Sammy was tucked away in his right side, his nose poking his upper side annoyingly. His kid brother's dark hair tickled his chin, but he couldn't complain. It had been a day since they had last saw their dad. Sammy was scared and just wanted their small family all together in the living room so they could watch television.

"Tell me a story," the child asked.

The last thing he wanted to do in that moment was to tell a story. His mind was going a mile a minute, wondering what was wrong with their dad and if he was going to be okay. Except, he didn't have the heart to say no.

"So, there were these two Fraggles," started Dean, "named John and Jude."

"That's our middle names!" Sammy said with a little enthusiasm.

"Hmm, what a coincidence."

"What's a co-ins-dence?"

Dean let a small chuckle escape his lips. For a few seconds, the terrifying thoughts of their father dying or never being the same left his mind. He felt relaxed for the first time in days. It was a feat only Sammy could manage. He was the only one who could drag him out of his gloom, melancholy moods.

"It's when two things happen at the same time by chance."

"I don't think it's a co-ins-dence that the Fraggles are named after us," resolved Sammy in a very serious tone.

"Yeah, I think you're probably right."

Meanwhile, down the hallway, John sat with his legs crossed on his bed with his back leaned against the wall. The dark circles under his eyes were as black as kohl, engulfing his sunken features. It seemed like he was quickly worsening in only a matter of days.

Caleb sat across from him in the desk chair. His feet were propped up on the bed and nearly knocking against John's knees. His arms were crossed over his chest. He sported his own dark circles, except his were from lack of sleep.

"Do you ever wonder if it's worth it?" croaked John.

"Is what worth it?"

"Hunting. Look at the life I gave Dean and Sammy. It's awful. I'm an awful father."

Caleb jerked his feet off the bed and planted them on the ground. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. He wasn't much for pep talks or talking about feelings. That's why him and John always got along so well. Neither cared about their past, what drove them into hunting, how hard hunting was, how shitty life was. No, they talked about sports and their fucking awesome beheading of a vampire. They talked about how much of a pain Sammy could be with his fifty million questions, how Dean had grown up too quickly so they needed to try to make him do kid stuff. They never talked about themselves.

"You're a good father, Johnny. Fuck, if I could, I would gladly replace my old man with you."

"I'm never home. I'm obsessed with hunting. I don't give them a good life. I get all of Dean's clothes from the Salvation Army, and Sammy's clothes are Dean's hand-me-downs."

"Nice clothes and fancy kicks aren't what makes a good parent. You love those boys to the fucking moon and back. You would do anything to put a smile on their smug little faces and would step in front of a runaway train to protect them. That makes a good parent… not material goods. As for hunting... fuck, Johnny, it's a job. You save lives and do good instead of being stuck in a cubicle for twelve hours. You're home as much as you can be. When you're not, you always drop them off at Jim's or Bobby's or my place. Most of the time, they're with people who care about them and will take care of them. If they're alone, then someone is always on their fucking way to keep them in line." Caleb licked his lips as he looked up at his friend. "We all love those little bastards. We would do anything to protect them. The thing they want most in life, the thing they can't live without, is you, man. Dean would go berserk without you. You'd destroy him."

John didn't say anything. He just stared at the younger hunter as though he had five heads and was spewing out bullshit. His silence was probably a good thing because Jim and Bobby entered the bedroom not long after.

Bobby asked an exhausting amount of questions. For once, John didn't roll his eyes or get annoyed with Bobby. That was a clue that something really was seriously wrong. The two always fought, always bickered like some old married couple that couldn't stand to even look at each other anymore.

"Did anything unusual happen in the hospital?" Bobby asked for the hundredth time in his endless interrogation. "Even the stupidest thing."

Caleb was about ready to grab the revolver that John used to try to kill himself to put a bullet through his own temple. Bobby had been questioning him about the events of the past few weeks for over an hour.

"I don't know!" John yelled.

"When did the depression start?" pushed Bobby.

"Shit, Bobby, I don't know. Right when I was admitted into the hospital it fucking started, alright?"

"Bobby, what are you thinking?" Jim interrupted.

"I'm thinking we're dealing with a suicidal spirit."

"What the hell?" interjected Caleb. "Wouldn't a suicidal spirit just go off to the mother-ship or become a ghost?"

Bobby glanced at the younger hunter and _shut up, you idjit_ was clearly written across his features. Caleb leaned back in his chair and shut his mouth. Bobby was one of the few people he actually listened to.

"Sometimes, when a spirit dies in high distress, it can latch onto another kindred soul," explained Bobby.

"Johnny has a soul akin to a suicidal person?" questioned Caleb with a smile dancing on his lips. "He's the least suicidal person I know."

"I want you two to investigate anyone who died in high distress within the first few days John was admitted," commanded Jim. "If you think it's someone who died via suicide, look at those deaths first."

"Considering John's mental state and suicide attempt, I'd say the person we are looking for someone who did commit suicide," agreed Bobby. "Come on, kid."

With that, Caleb and Bobby exited the bedroom with their mission fresh in their minds.

"Caleb!" Dean shot up from his spot on the couch when he saw Caleb and Bobby exit the forbidden bedroom where their father was stashed away.

"What?" he asked, faltering in his march to the front door.

Dean licked his lips, his eyes glancing frantically at his little brother who was curled up under a blanket on the couch. His tear-stained face peered at them, his eyes wide as saucers. Despite his best efforts to keep Sammy in the dark of what he saw their father try to do, the kid had a knack of knowing when something was amiss. The lack of information he would get always worked him up in a tizzy. Dean could never calm the kid down, because he couldn't tell him the truth. He hated lying to his kid brother, so he said nothing.

"What's going on?" he asked in a low voice.

"Bobby and I are going on a hunt," he replied with a shit-eating grin. "Johnny's making us go."

"What's wrong with my dad?" he pushed.

Caleb stole a gaze with Bobby, which immediately told Dean that they were under strict orders not to tell him anything. Except, he had to wonder if that was his dad's or Pastor Jim's orders. His dad seemed sick, very sick if he put a gun to his temple. Every time he closed his eyes, that was all Dean saw – his father with the muzzle of a gun resting on his forehead. It made his knees go weak.

"He's not feelin' well," replied Bobby.

"But the hunt, it's to get my dad better, right?"

"You're too damn nosy for your own good," Caleb announced. "You're eleven. Go watch Sesame Street."

Dean cocked his head to the side and sneered. If there was anything that made Dean upset, it was treating him like a baby. He was eleven years old. He helped his dad practically raise Sammy. Most importantly, his dad _trusted_ him – not just with Sammy but with the truth of what was really out there.

"Caleb, can I talk to you alone?"

All of the adults could be stone cold serious and tight lipped whenever something big happened. Caleb, however, was the easiest target to break. At only twenty-five, he was by far the youngest hunter in their circle. It was no lie that he thought of John as the big brother he lost and viewed Dean and Sammy as the nephews he would never be able to have.

Bobby gave a stern look to both Caleb and Dean that conveyed there should be no funny business. He disappeared out the front door without another word. Caleb racked a hand through his unusually long blonde hair.

"I promise not to tell Pastor Jim or Bobby or Dad that you told me. Please, Caleb, I _need_ to know what's wrong with my dad," pleaded Dean.

"It's a ghost, okay?" Caleb hissed under his breath. "A fucking suicidal ghost latched onto him in the hospital and is making him go crazy."

Dean nodded, his face trying so hard to be void of any emotion. He bit his bottom lip – a characteristic that was purely Sam's. A lump formed in his throat. He struggled to find words but felt as though they were trapped.

"So… you're gonna go salt and burn the bones and he'll be fine, right?" Dean struggled to get the words off his tongue.

Suddenly, the eleven-year old realized that fear was gripping onto every bone of his body. His dad was a hero, an unbreakable hunter who saved lives and killed the monsters. For the first time, John Winchester was damaged and breakable. It was a foreign feeling that made fear slither into every inch of Dean's body and ice over.

"That's Bulldog's theory," Caleb replied, using his fond nickname for Bobby to lighten the mood. "We're going to go do some recon at the hospital, see if we can find out who was admitted during the time Johnny was there. Maybe find somebody who died there that would personify the symptoms that your dad is displaying."

"Then, you're going to go salt and burn?"

"Salt and burn all the way, baby."

Dean nodded as he fought the urge to ask if he could go with them. He already knew the answer. Plus, he had to stay with Sammy and make sure he was okay and keep his mind off what was happening. It was his job – protect Sammy. The kid was only six. He was way too young to learn that the world wasn't all puppy dogs and rainbows.

"Can I see him?"

"Dude, he's pretty fucked up right now," Caleb replied honestly. "I don't think he'd want you to see him like this. He'd kick my ass when he's better for it actually."

"Just… hurry, okay?"

Reaching out a hand, Caleb ruffled the kid's locks. He didn't say anything, didn't want to break a promise in case they couldn't save John in time. It was as though a switch flipped and he was deteriorating faster than ever. He'd be damned, though, if he didn't go to the edge of the world to try.

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Please, leave a review and let me know what you think! :)


	8. Loose Cannon

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Eight: Loose Cannon"**

**January 26**

Entering the ranch, Caleb immediately saw the Winchester children situated on the couch in front of the television with miserable looks painted across their faces. Sammy was snuggled into his big brother's side, his face barely visible through his stringy bangs. Dean glanced over at the hunter, the unasked question ringing between them. Caleb didn't bother forcing a smile or say anything reassuring. Instead, he closed the space between him and the Winchesters.

Caleb crouched down in front of the couch. He rested his elbows on his propped knees. Sammy immediately leaned forward, his tiny arms draping over the older boy's shoulders. Their foreheads connected. He held the stance for a few seconds before snaking his arms around the small child and pulling him close to his chest. Their cheeks brushed against one another as Caleb stood up and held Sammy comfortably in his arms. Adjusting the kid onto his hip, he extended his free arm to the oldest Winchester.

"Come on, let's eat."

Dean got off the couch almost reluctantly but allowed Caleb to snake an arm around his shoulders and steer him to the kitchen. Caleb held Sammy in his arms as he took out a jar of peanut butter, jelly, and bread. For good measure, he grabbed the Oreos and a jug of milk from the fridge. Setting the child onto his feet, Caleb quickly threw dollops of peanut butter and jelly onto the bread. With three sandwiches made, he handed a plate to each Winchester. Then, he grabbed his own plate, the jug, and propped the bag of cookies under his arm.

Sam was the first to sit down. He tugged off a piece of crust and plopped it in his mouth while Caleb took a spot next to him and Dean sat across from them. Propping an arm around the back of Sammy's chair, Caleb leaned back and ate his sandwich with one hand. Dean merely picked at the top of his bread.

"You find what you were looking for?" questioned Dean.

"Think so," replied Caleb before shoving the sandwich in his mouth.

They ate their sandwiches in silence. Caleb was the first one done. He set his plate in the sink and grabbed three glasses. Pouring milk into each of them, he opened the bag of Oreos. Sammy abandoned the rest of his sandwich in favor of the cookies.

"Wanna hear a dream that I had the other night?" Caleb broke the silence.

"Sure," Sammy answered as his little fingers grabbed four cookies and plopped them on his plate.

"I had a dream that me and your dad went all Ghostbuster and wasted this poltergeist," Caleb started as he winked at Dean to let him know it was a true story.

"What's that?"

"A super pissed off ghost."

"Daddy talks about ghosts sometimes," Sammy said with mild interest. "I 'member he was talkin' to Pastor Jim on the phone about helping someone with a ghost problem and I heard it but I wasn't 'posed to hear it. Daddy said that sometimes people just need help and getting rid of a ghost is real easy. So, after work one day, he helped get rid of the ghost."

Caleb looked up at Dean, a smirk shining on his features. Dean shook his head before darting a look at his kid brother. John and Dean tried to shield the youngest Winchester from the hunting world. Sometimes, he overheard the wrong things.

"How often does your dad talk about ghosts?" questioned Caleb slowly only to receive a glare from Dean.

"Not often. He told me they were real after I heard him on the phone. Daddy said he only helped one or two friends with ghost problems before. I 'member asking Dean if Mommy was a ghost. He said no," the child said in a sad tone.

"Dad's a mechanic, Sammy," Dean added in a serious tone. "Helping someone get rid of a ghost is like helping someone get rid of termites. It doesn't happen that often. Remember, I _told_ you that."

"Be cool if it happened more," retorted Sammy.

"Oh, you have no idea, runt," replied Caleb with a wide smile.

Sammy looked up at Caleb with a puzzled look on his face. He didn't ask any questions, which was a miracle within itself. Instead, he focused his attention on the Oreos in front of him.

"So, this poltergeist is coming at Johnny at full speed. Of course, your dad's such a pussy and needed saving. I mean, I railed this poltergeist round after round with rock salt just to save your old man…"

Meanwhile, down the hallway, Jim and John sat across from each other in the spare bedroom. Jim felt like someone should stay with John at all times in case he found a different way to kill himself that didn't involve a gun. The pastor took the job, because Bobby and Caleb were better hunters than he was. If anyone could figure out who the spirit was that was haunting John's body, it was those two.

"Jim, we've been friends for awhile now," John said in a low drawl.

The pastor looked up at the younger man. His elbows rested on his knees. He looked drawn, defeated. Dark circles resided underneath his bloodshot eyes. His lips were tinted blue. They were the signs that Bobby warned about – signs that said that the ghost that latched onto John was winning the internal battle. Jim swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes casting to the door. Dean and Sam were told to stay out of the room but he feared they were in earshot.

"We have, John."

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of."

"I think we all have."

John never talked about past indiscretions. In fact, he wasn't much for talking period. John loved to joke, loved to tell stories, and dote on his boys. The one thing he never did was talk about Mary or emotions. He kept everything so bottled up inside of him, that it was no wonder a kindred, suicidal spirit had decided to hold onto him in a moment of sheer despair and panic.

"I've killed people," he said in a hoarse voice. "I killed men in Vietnam."

"It was a time of war, John. It couldn't be helped."

"I killed that hunter."

"That hunter shot your son. He was hardly innocent," Jim said despite not believing the words.

He believed that salvation was created for sinners. Everyone could redeem themselves no matter how bad their past misdeeds were. Except, Jim also understood that John was protecting Caleb. If Jim found himself in a similar situation, he had no doubt that he would have done exactly what his friend had. Hunting friends had each other's backs. Somehow, Jim Murphy found himself in cahoots with a reckless twenty-something, a damaged father, and gruff bulldog to name a few. Those were the three who constantly gave him migraines.

"I cheated on Mary."

"When?"

"The day I got released from the hospital," he licked his cracked lips. "That wasn't the first time either. She's gone, but I always feel guilty every time. Do you know how lonely it gets? Dean and Sammy… they're my life. I am happy for them to be my life. Sometimes… it just gets lonely."

"John, Mary's dead. You can't cheat on the dead."

He looked up at Jim with a tight jaw. Twirling the wedding ring around his finger, John forced a smile onto his face. His heart ached something awful within his chest cavity. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

"She was my everything. Things… they weren't always perfect though. We fought a lot about money," he said as he glanced up at the pastor. "I always felt inadequate, because I couldn't provide for my family like I should have. We struggled paycheck to paycheck. They say money's not everything, but it is when you have a wife and kid at home who need food and shelter." John sighed, his gaze shifted back on his wedding ring. "I never wanted any other girl. I just wanted her."

"John, you didn't cheat on Mary. It's death 'til you part… and she's gone, John."

"Jim… please, I'm begging you. Give me back my gun."

The pastor froze at the words. He had not expected that this would be the direction of the conversation. Shifting in the chair, very well aware of the gun resting against his back, Jim kept a straight face as he mulled over the perfect words.

"If you kill yourself, Dean and Sammy would be orphans. They would be completely stripped of what's left of their childhood. They would be so devastated that no amount of therapy could help them – especially Dean. He's already watched his mother burn within his own home. To know that his father took his own life… I fear it would be the final straw that would undo him. As for Sammy, he's so full of life and so innocent. You would rob him of that innocence and rip away that very light that radiates from him. You don't want to do that to your children, John."

"They'd be safer without me," croaked John as silent tears poured down his unnaturally pale face. "They could live with you or Caleb. They'd be happy."

"They'd be destroyed beyond repair. I wouldn't be surprised if Dean never spoke again, if Sammy never asked another question. They would not be the same children that they are now. They _need_ their father, John. They need you as much as you need them."

"Can I see them?"

Neither one of them moved nor talked. They stared at each other – one pleading to see his children and the other wondering what kind of psychological damage would ensue to the children to see their father in such a state. Finally, Jim broke down and stood up slowly. Be made his way to the door, opened it slightly, and called for the Winchester children.

Dean was the first one in the room, his hand holding his kid brother's. Sammy entered behind his brother, his chest nearly flat with Dean's back. Upon seeing their father, Sammy broke away from Dean and made a mad dash towards the bed. John slid off the bed, fell to his knees, and enveloped the young child in his arms. His face was buried into Sammy's messy curls as the child held onto his father's neck as though it was a lifeline. Dean hung back and felt the reassuring hands of Caleb on his shoulders.

"Daddy, why are you cryin'," questioned Sammy as a strangled sob escaped his lips.

"Because, I love you and your brother so damn much," he replied as he tightened his grip around his son and looked up at Dean.

"Dean said you were sick."

"I'm not feelin' too good, but I just missed you boys so much."

Slowly, Dean took a step forward. His legs led him to his father as though automatically. Soon enough, his arms were around his father's neck and face buried into Sammy's hair. John freed on arm and looped it around his eldest.

"I love you boys so much," whispered John.

"Daddy, I love you too," commented Sammy.

Dean stayed silent, slowly pulling away from the embrace. He rested his hands on Sammy's shoulders and slowly pulled the boy back onto his chest. Tears were pouring down Sammy's face as he stood close to his big brother. That's when Bobby Singer entered the bedroom, a manila envelope in the crook of his arm.

"Dean, why don't you and Sammy do your homework? Your dad still isn't feeling 100 percent," commented Jim.

Sammy leaned forward, giving his father a messy kiss on the cheek before stepping back towards his big brother. Dean grabbed the kid's hand and led him out of the bedroom. At the door, he glanced back at his father and then towards the three hunters. Then, he left.

"Thank you," whispered John as he stood up.

That's when it happened. Nobody expected it. John shoved Caleb against the wall, his forearm pinning his throat to the drywall and his other hand reaching around his waist to grab the gun that was always tucked away between the young hunter's back and waistband of his jeans. It was a compulsive thing to Caleb. He never truly felt safe, so he always kept a gun with him. Anyone who knew anything about the hunter knew that.

Caleb struggled, gasping for breath. He tried to fight off John's intruding hand but could barely concentrate on what he was doing. Before he could even cry out for help, Bobby and Jim were pulling John back. A low, primal growl of pain escaped John's lips as he was wrestled to the ground. Caleb stood against the wall, heaving and shell-shocked.

"Get my bag!" Bobby hissed as he struggled to keep a fighting John down.

Snapping to attention, Caleb grabbed Bulldog's bag from the corner of the room and tossed it at the older hunter. He motioned for Caleb to help hold John down as he rummaged through the bag with one hand. Pulling out a pair of metal handcuffs, he attached the one cuff to his wrist, wrapped the short chain around the bedpost, and snapped the other cuff on the opposite wrist.

"I don't even want to know why you brought your kinky handcuffs," Caleb said weakly with a half-hearted grin.

"Shut up, you idjit."

John yanked his arms forward as hard as he could muster. The bedpost did not give. The only result was a strangled sob and desperate look. Caleb stood up, slowly backing away from his friend.

"Caleb, are you okay?" the pastor asked as he too rose.

"Peachy. I think I need some air."

Making his way to the door, Caleb paused briefly with his hand on the knob. Twisting it in one fluid motion, he heard John plead for a gun before he exited the room completely.

* * *

**January 27**

Caleb stood next to the front door with his car keys dangling from his fingertips and arms crossed over his chest. Sammy bounced on his toes next to him, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. Dean, however, was nowhere to be found.

"Dean, get your ass out here now! You're going to be late!" Caleb shook his head. "You're going to make your nerdy brother cry if he's late!"

"Hey!" protested Sammy, a pout working its way on his lips.

Dean appeared from around the corner with his backpack resting on his shoulders. Without a word the three made their way out of the ranch. It didn't take more than a few seconds for Caleb to spot the truck across the street. It had been missing for days – or perhaps they were all too preoccupied to notice. That didn't really matter. Caleb just had the sudden urge to pound the two hunters into the ground. The Winchesters had enough to deal with.

"Dean, Sammy, get in the car."

The Winchesters climbed into the car almost reluctantly as Caleb strode towards the truck with the two hunters inside. Something rumbled inside of him, urging him to set these guys straight. He knew that John, Jim, and Bulldog would not approve of this type of confrontation. Caleb, however, was on his last straw with everything going on. He didn't need some twisted hunters staking out Jim's ranch.

"Hey, motherfuckers, get out of the damn truck!"

The two hunters ambled out of the truck. They were taller and bulkier than Caleb had first anticipated. He did not back down, however. He straightened up, trying to appear as tall as he could muster. He silently cursed himself for not going to the gym more often. Johnny always bitched at him for it.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the guy who shot your friends, and I think you need to get the fuck out of Blue Earth before you leave in body bags too."

"What the hell did you say, boy?" the one guy snarled.

"I'm sorry, did I fuckin' stutter?"

"You just signed your own death wish," the other guy added.

"You know what your so-called friends did? They shot that kid over there, nearly killed him too. So, I can't say that I'm that sorry that I shot their fucking asses," Caleb said plainly. "If you two doofuses hurt one hair on either of those boys heads, I will go bat shit and kill you."

With that, Caleb turned around and made his way back to his jeep. It took all he had in him not to turn around to see what the hunters were doing. He didn't think it was anything, because he could see Dean and Sammy's faces plastered against the back window watching intensely with serious looks. They weren't trying to warn him or anything which was a good sign.

Climbing into the jeep, he slammed the driver's door shut. He glanced in the rearview mirror to see the hunters had gotten back into their truck but were not moving from the spot. He turned his key in the ignition as Dean climbed into the front seat.

"Pastor Jim says that the MF word is the worst swear word of them all," Sammy pointed out.

"Well, Sammy," Caleb said as he pulled out of the driveway. "Sometimes, people just deserve to be called that."

"I liked the part where you asked them if you fucking stuttered," commented Dena with a small, forced grin.

"You two need to stop listening in on everyone's conversations. It's rude."

"We didn't try! We could hear you with the windows up!" protested Sammy.

"It doesn't help that you have a piece of crap jeep, dude," added Dean. "Get a real car."

"Do you wanna walk to school, smartass?" snapped Caleb as he shot a brief glare at the kid.

For the first time in days, the Winchesters joked with their friend. Some of the tension and worry filtered out of the vehicle. In that ten-minute drive, they were kids once more.

Author's Notes – I hope you enjoyed the newest chapter! I know Sam's not supposed to know anything about the supernatural until that Christmas, but, honestly, the kid had to know some things. It doesn't make sense that he'd be completely in the dark, because he didn't seem all that surprised when he found out on the show. Plus, I started writing this series before that episode ever aired, so it helps make "Death for Ghosts" semi-canon in "The Dark Horse" series. As always, leave a review! :)


	9. Shots Heard Around the World

"**Revolver"**

"**Chapter Eight: Shots Heard Around the World"**

**January 27**

Caleb wiped the back of his hand against his sweet-drenched forehead and bangs. Stepping back, he used the tip of the shovel to pry open the casket. The stench that emitted into the air was nearly unbearable. Caleb gagged openly, climbing out of the grave to allow Bobby to salt the corpse.

With his sleeve over his mouth, Bobby poured the salt and gasoline into the grave before bravely taking away the barrier from his noise and mouth. He swiped a match on his matchbook and dropped the stick into the grave. The body instantly burst into flames as the stench grew at an alarming rate. Caleb turned around, his eyes watering from the smell.

"If this doesn't fucking work, I'll be so pissed at you," snapped Caleb.

"Calm down, cowboy," Bobby growled.

The flames licked the decaying body, the burning flesh odor growing rapidly. When they were sure the body was completely ash, Caleb started to shovel the dirt back into the hole. He silently prayed that this would work.

They rushed back to the ranch, their hopes high and arms aching. Caleb entered the house first, spotting Dean and Sammy on the couch watching Fraggle Rock. Both their heads snapped towards the entryway, eyes wide and curious. Forcing a tight smile, Caleb nodded in their direction before rushing towards the bedroom.

John was still handcuffed to the bedframe, his head lolling to the side. The bruises still resided under his unnaturally pale face. His lips were nearly invisible. He looked miserable, looked on the brink of death. Caleb's heart sank.

"It didn't work," he breathed sardonically.

The pastor looked up at him, words failing to form on his tongue. Bobby entered the room. At one look at John, he took off his trucker hat and ran a frustrated hand through his graying hair.

Later that night, Jim leaned back against the armoire, his eyes drooping shut. John was across from him, his wrists still handcuffed together around the wooden bedpost. Lying on the bed in a fetal position, sound asleep, was Caleb Lyons. Sitting at the foot of the bed, with his back resting comfortably against the wall was Bobby Singer. A book was open in his lap.

It was unnecessary to have three hunters watching out for the suicidal man ailing from a ghost attack, but it made everyone feel a little bit better. Plus, Jim knew that himself and Bobby would get little sleep that night. When the salt and burn of the body had failed to cure him, it brought the jolting realization that death might be around the corner. Nobody felt like sleeping or giving up when John's death would mean Dean and Sammy would be orphans and taken away from them.

John shifted in his spot, his raw wrists scraping against the metal. A wince crossed his graying features. His stark white lips parted as jagged breaths escaped. Bluish purple circles illuminated under his dull eyes in the moonlit that seeped through the window. Bobby said they didn't have much longer to save him. He gave them two days maximum before John was going to croak.

"HELP!" a shout resonated through the tiny house that belonged to the eldest Winchester.

The shout had jolted Jim out of his musing, had caused Caleb to shoot up into a sitting position, has caused Bobby to toss his book onto the comforter. Then, there was a loud crash. A bloodcurdling cry, which could only have been from the youngest Winchester, followed. Bobby was off the bed in two seconds with a revolver clenched at his side. Another scream, from Dean no doubt, sounded and Jim was up and rushing towards the door.

"SAM! DEAN!" John shouted weakly, his arms tugging at the handcuffs that bound him to his spot.

Rounding the corner, Jim saw Bobby standing in the boys' bedroom with his gun drawn. Before he could even blink, there were two shots fired. They echoed in the ranch house, sent shivers down his spine. Jim faltered in his stride, not quite believing what was occurring.

Out of nowhere, Jim was pushed against the wall as Caleb ran past him and entered the bedroom. The slam against the wall was enough to make Jim's legs start to move again. Peering into the doorway, the pastor felt as though all of the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

Two men were lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Underneath the one hunter was Sammy Winchester. He was covered in blood and crying out for his dad and big brother. Caleb untangled the child from the dead body and clenched him tightly in his arms. Dean sat on the carpet, shell-shocked as his eyes darted in-between the two bodies.

"Dean!" snapped Caleb.

This was enough to get the kid to snap out of his trance. Struggling to stand up on shaky legs, his eyes never leaving the still bodies, he made his way to Caleb. Immediately, the hunter wrapped a free arm around the kid and pulled him close to his chest. His hand rested on the side of Dean's face and tried to block his gaze from the floor.

"Caleb, get them out of here!" shouted Jim harsher than he intended to.

The young hunter tugged Dean to follow him. Sammy rested on his hip, his face buried into the folds of his T-shirt. The youngest Winchester was shaking like a leaf, muffled cries escaping his lips. Once the three were through the threshold, Jim stepped forward.

"These were the hunters who were friends with Rhodes and Everett," Jim commented as he crouched down beside one to check for a pulse.

"They were going to kidnap Dean and Sammy," Bobby voiced the common opinion.

The first hunter was dead. Moving to the second one, he felt a faint pulse. Jim looked up at the younger hunter. The moral thing to do would be to call an ambulance and try to save the man's life. Except, Jim could hear John screaming for his children in the other room. It was distracting enough to make him want to let the hunter die.

"Do you know them?"

"Dante Evans and Jason Norman," Bobby supplied. "I've met them a few times at the Saltbox."

The Saltbox was a bar for hunters – akin to the Roadhouse. The only difference between the two places was that the Roadhouse was meant to enable hunters to form friendships and make connections meanwhile the Saltbox was meant to enable hunters to get drunk and meet one night stands. Usually the degenerates and loners wound up in at the Saltbox. Bobby would go from time to time to seek out unlikely hunting allies. Jim could not complain. It was good to have a variety of alliances.

"They have a history of kidnapping kids?"

"No, but they have a tendency to protect their own at any cost," replied Bobby dryly.

Jim closed his eyes, his forefinger and thumb squeezing the bridge of his nose. He tried to block out Sammy's cries and John's screaming. Without looking at Bobby, he spoke.

"Call 911," demanded Jim in a soft tone as he pulled off his flannel shirt and applied pressure to the gunshot wound.

"Excuse me?" asked Bobby.

"Call an ambulance. Tell them that two men broke into my house, tried to kidnap the children I was watching, and were shot. The one is still alive and the other one is long dead. Then, grab John and handcuff him in my hunting office in the basement of the church," the pastor clarified.

"You're shitting me, right?" snapped Bobby. "I pulled the freakin' trigger! I'm the one going down, not you!"

"You're protected," the pastor reasoned as he applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. "Minnesota has a very liberal castle law."

"What about hunters? We let the cops know, then the whole fucking hunting community is going to be riding our asses for the rest of our lives! Hell, I might as well take John out back and put him down like a dog, because he's as good as dead this way!"

Jim sighed. He had to get the man help. He couldn't, with a clear conscious, just let him bleed out. On the other hand, he understood Bobby's point of view.

"Is that gun registered?"

"You think I'm an idjit and would actually register my guns?" snapped Bobby.

"Good, I was hoping you would say that. Call Hamilton Slane and have him get that gun transferred into my name. Tell him I need it yesterday."

Hamilton Slane was a hunter who came from a long line of hunters. Some even said he was somehow related to Samuel Colt. Whether that was true or not, Hamilton never said. He kept his family and his personal life secret. The one thing about Hamilton, however, was that he could forge documents like a pro and get those documents into the right databases quickly. Some said he was teaching his boys the tricks of the trade to give them an edge if they ever got into trouble.

"Tell Caleb to call 911 and tell them what happened. Have him tell the operator that I was the one who shot the intruders. Have him talk to Dean and Sammy. They need to say their dad is out of town on business and they're staying with me. They need to know that Caleb was just passing through to see them when their dad was gone. Meanwhile, you get John in my office and stay there with him. You were never here."

"That's fine and dandy, but those hunters will still go after you, Caleb, and the boys!"

"This ends here and now," commented Jim in an even tone as he stared at the dying body in front of him.

"How do you expect to do that?" questioned Bobby dryly.

"We send out a warning to all hunters," the pastor replied. "That warning is that if you come after us, you will regret it."

Bobby glanced over at the pastor with a scoff of disbelief lodged in his throat. The pastor might have been a popular and beloved figure in the hunting community, but he would not be able to instill the fear of consequence into damaged hunters. They would eat him alive.

"Don't you kind of think a warning would be counterproductive?" snapped Bobby in a harsh whisper. "It will only cause things to be worse."

"In prison, other inmates always try to hurt or murder the child molesters and child killers," Jim matched the hushed tone. "Two hunters that shot and nearly killed a ten year old boy are dead. Now, another two hunters tried to kidnap two children and they ended up dead. If I come out and make it clear that these hunters were harming children, a majority of the hunters are going to side with me."

"I don't doubt that when it comes to kids, people have a soft spot. Except, killing a clique of hunters and claiming it was because they were harming children… there are those who aren't going to give two fucks because they think you're just lying and will come after you and everyone else in full force."

"Do you know how many hunters I have trained over the years, Robert?" the pastor reeled around. "I'll give you a hint, it wasn't just you."

"You think because you've trained a lot of hunters that you're a king or something?"

"I've trained more hunters than I can count. I have paired up countless rookies with experienced hunters. You ask any hunter you meet and they know me. They will listen to what I have to say and they will follow. I can damn well guarantee you that no hunter will bother the Winchesters again."

"Yeah, good luck with that, Jim," snapped Bobby before exiting the room.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Dean and Sammy were huddled on the couch on either side of Caleb. The youngest Winchester was crying something awful, begging to see his dad. Dean was frozen in Caleb's side, his eyes wide with fear. He blinked a few times, seemingly trying to escape the shock that his body was processing.

"I want my dad!" screamed Sammy, tears pouring down his cheeks, as John's screams echoed throughout the house. "Daddy!"

As though a bolt of lightning hit him square in the chest, Dean jolted away from Caleb. He reached out his arms to his kid brother who climbed over Caleb's lap and wrapped his limbs around his sibling.

"I want Daddy, Dean," he continued to wail.

"Caleb!" Bobby snapped from across the room.

The younger hunter left the couch to talk to Bobby. Dean only held his brother in his arms, his eyes wide as saucers and lip trembling slightly. He buried his face into his brother's messy locks as he rubbed his back.

"I know, but Dad's sick and we can't see him," reasoned Dean.

"I want Daddy! I don't want you!" cried Sammy as he struggled in his brother's embrace.

"Sammy, stop!" he pleaded as his grip tightened around his brother. "Please, I _need_ you, okay?"

Sam stopped squirming, his cries mixing with hiccups as he wiped his nose on his brother's t-shirt. For once, Dean didn't even care. The motion only made him grip his kid brother tighter.

"Dad can't always be there for you," he whispered, "but I always will be. When you can't have Dad, you have me."

Dean didn't know how long he held his brother. He was only broken out of his trance when Caleb was suddenly crouching beside the couch, his hand resting on Sammy's shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. His eyes met Dean and immediately he understood. It was time to hear their cover story, time to be told what to tell the authorities who were most likely on their way.

"Listen to your brother, Sammy," Caleb added. "You have the best big brother there ever was. Most aren't always there for their brothers when they need someone. You got a good one."

"Yeah," agreed Sammy through his hiccups. "I love you, Dean."

"Dude, don't be such a girl," replied Dean with a shaky smile.

"Listen, both of you, quickly," Caleb demanded their attention. "Your dad's out of town on business. Bobby was never here. Pastor Jim was the one who shot those dicks, okay?"

Dean nodded in understanding, but Caleb paid no attention. He knew the older Winchester understood the routine. It was Sammy he was worried about. Moving his hand to the kid's chin, he gently tugged his face to look at him.

"Sammy?"

"Daddy's out of town, Bobby was never here, Pastor Jim shot the men," he replied.

"Good. You two stay put, I gotta call 911."

Dean continued to hold his brother close to his chest. Suddenly, he realized he could no longer hear his father screaming. Most likely, Bobby took him out the back door so they wouldn't see him.

"So," started Dean, "there were these two kids named John and Jude. They were not only brothers but also best friends. They did everything together and told each other everything…."

The next few hours seemed to be the longest hours of the young Winchesters' lives. Caleb stayed with them in the living room the entire time. The police officers questioned them about what happened. They watched the two body bags being reeled out. Sammy cried when he saw the bags, his arms latching around his big brother's neck. After what seemed like forever, they were finally allowed to get cleaned up and go to bed.

Sammy was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. All of the excitement had tired him out. Dean, however, could not welcome sleep. He lay on his side with his little brother's back flush against his chest. An arm lay lazily over the kid's side. Behind Dean lay Caleb who could not find sleep either. He was lying on his back, his forearm resting against his forehead. He stared at the popcorn ceiling lost in his thoughts. They were only broken when Dean rolled on his back, his arm still caught under the slight weight of Sammy.

"Do you think those hunters would have killed us?" questioned Dean in a serious tone that did not belong to an eleven year old.

"Probably," Caleb answered honestly. "Usually when people get kidnapped, it's not for anything happy."

"The one guy told me if I made a sound or fought back, he'd kill Sammy on the spot. I did it anyways. You think he would have killed Sammy if Bobby didn't get there so quickly?"

"You did the right thing," Caleb said as he turned on his side to face the kid. "If they would have taken you out of this house, your chances for survival would have decreased dramatically. We might have never found you two again. You always fight. You never comply with demands and you never let yourself get tied up. You fight like you're taking your last fucking breath. If you fight at the beginning, you have a chance to survive. You comply and wait around, you would only survive based on pure, dumb luck."

Dean nodded, a frown etched deeply into his face. Fight: it was what his father always said to do. He instilled in Dean that you have to fight for what you want - that you can never just lie down and have good things happened. That's why Dean fought off the attackers, why he screamed for help. He had to fight, not only for his life, but for Sammy's life as well.

"Is my dad going to die?"

"The salt and burn failed," commented Caleb with a frown. "Bobby and I are going to the parents' house tomorrow to see if they have anything of his that might need burned too."

"If there isn't?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get there, Debbie Downer."

"If it doesn't work… if my dad dies… what happens to me and Sammy?" Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. "Will they separate us?"

"Dude, your dad's not going to die. If by some slim chance he does, you two would live with Jim or Bobby or me or whoever the hell you guys wanted to live with. You'd never be separated."

"You'd take in me and Sammy?"

"In a fucking heartbeat, motherfucker."

A small smirk worked its way onto Dean's lips. As quickly as it came, it left even faster. A frown worked its way into his forehead.

"Luckily, I won't have to," Caleb said in an even tone. "If anyone can find out what's still linking that spirit to your dad, it's Bobby. He's like the whisperer of everything supernatural."

"Dad hates Bobby," replied Dean.

"I know he does. It's stupid and childish. On the other side of that coin, however, your dad trusts him. He thinks he's a damn fine hunter and would trust you guys' life with him. They're both just stubborn and don't agree with each other on a number of issues."

Dean nodded, his eyes drooping slightly. His head lolled against Caleb's chest. Before long, he slipped into a dreamland filled with fears of death and loneliness.

Author's Notes – So sorry for the late update! A lot has been going on. I moved to a new city to attend graduate school, I got engaged, and I bought a puppy. Needless to say, my life is hectic! I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter! There is only one chapter left! So, please, leave a review! :)


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